Garysk

[blaird]

Garysk tarmac

[GaryK]

[GaryK]

After Action report (using TfT):



Zone 1: Smooth take off and formed up.

Zones 2 – 5: Nothing untoward.

Zone 6: The aircraft became unbalanced, and we diagnosed that the fuel transfer pump had given up the ghost. Khalapov crawled into the bomb bay and operated the hand-pump to give us sufficient fuel to complete the mission, although after Holbrook and Cantalupo put their heads together, they revealed that we would not have enough to make it back to base, and will have to divert into El-Aouina on the return leg. The opposition did their bit to let us continue the mission, with no threats being sighted as we edged closer to the coast of Sicily.

Zone 7: Things heated up fast as we approached the target! Four FW-190s dived down on us, but our Lightning friends managed to engage two of them before they reached the formation. As one used his speed to zoom up from off our port quarter, 2LT Brest virtually chopped their right wing off with an accurate burst, the pilot bailing out seconds later.

The thunder of the guns didn’t stop as Beckworth and Cantalupo engaged the other bogey at 3 o’clock high. Both screamed out that they had hit, but the opposing pilot pressed his attack, with a burst closely missing the right tailplane. He then pulled a corkscrew manoeuvre, coming back at us from 3 o’ clock low, but Beckworth had tracked him all the way, putting a burst through the FW’s canopy which caused the aircraft to bank away and spiral downwards. No chute was seen, so a possible pilot kill.

We got our first view of Regia Aeronautica airframes shortly before reaching the target, as a dogfight began between five MC-200s and our Lightning escorts. The fighter boys couldn’t keep them all busy, and four of them slipped through to line up on us. Sgt Cross in the ball turret immediately improved the odds by hitting something vital in the wing of the one moving in from below our port beam. The wing exploded and tore off, with the aircraft entering a fast corkscrew dive; no chute was seen escaping.

The deafening clatter of 0.5” guns drowned out the intercom as four other positions fired at our collection of targets. Some hits were scored, but nothing decisive. The Italians pressed their attack, but not a single one of them hit our plane! I guess these guys don’t have the combat experience of the Luftwaffe aircrew. One nearly hit our starboard wing as he pulled away.

Sgt Ripa had been bellyaching that nothing was coming his way, but he picked up one of the attackers as it moved through his field of fire. A powerful stream of lead from his guns chopped off the end of the left wing, which caused it to spin out of control. Once again, no chute was seen.

The survivors decided that they’d had enough, and broke off for home. I had been nervously keeping an eye on the fuel gauge for a further reduction in our fuel load, but I was worrying about nothing.

I checked with Lt Holbrook that we were on course, and began our final approach to the target. The puffs of grey and black cotton candy signalled that we had been spotted by the AA guns on the ground, but they were as accurate as their pilots had been, and we made a textbook run. Brest confirmed that our load had hit the target, despite it being partially obscured. (Subsequent photo-recce confirmed a 30% efficiency).


INBOUND

Zone 7: The turn away from the target saw more flak come our way, but once again, luck smiled on us and none of it hit home.

Sgt Newbern shouted that we had company, but the two FW-190s aiming to make us their target hadn’t reckoned on our escort being quite so numerous today. They broke off and dove away, knowing that they were outnumbered.

Zone 6: Just as I was thinking that I should have Khalapov call ahead to El-Aouina, he called out, “Bogeys!”

Once again, our escorts prevented most of the attackers getting to us – we need to send those boys some beer (or something stronger). Ripa called out that he had a single Me109 coming in from directly behind. A few seconds later, the clatter of his twin guns shook the plane, but he moaned that he didn’t think that he’d hit anything.

The Luftwaffe pilot was more accurate, with several shells thumping into the airframe. A loud bang from the radio room area had us fearing the worst, but the enemy plane was coming around for another attack. The bogey missed us, but Cantalupo in the top turret yelled out that he had hit it. This was followed shortly afterwards by a cheer from Ripa as the German had flown right across his sights as he passed under and behind our plane, resulting in another kill for our tail gunner.

Cantalupo quickly checked on Khalapov, but he found him sitting with a stunned look on his face, uninjured, with the smoking wreck of his radio equipment in front of him! They used a single extinguisher just to ensure nothing untoward would result from so much exposed wiring.

Another wave of Italian aircraft looked like they might like a nibble at us, but thought better of it as our fighters climbed to engage them.

With the radio out, we were unable to contact El-Aouina, so I had 2LT Arnone take control and circle the field while I popped a yellow flare out of the radio room window. A green one was seen shortly afterwards from the ground, and we touched down smoothly a little later.

With El-Aouina being designated as a diversion airfield, there is an engineering team and stores here, so they say that they will have us on our way tomorrow. Good news!

This was a fine first mission for the crew, who display developing teamwork and confidence in each other’s abilities. There will be more challenging missions than this, but we are off to a great start.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)

Zone 1: Smooth take off and formed up.

Zones 2 – 8: Nothing untoward.

Zone 9: We had all been alert for fighter attacks since leaving the Tunisian coast, but even as we turned over the IP for our target run, nothing troubled us. The fighter cover today was superb, and even though the target was a little difficult to pick out, 2Lt Brest got us on a steady run in. The flak opened up, as expected, as we closed in on Palazzolo and although rocked by a few close ones, nothing hit us. Soon after, Brest called, “Bombs away!”, then confirmed to us and the formation that they went on target.

Turning for home, a loud bang on my side of the compartment signalled that something had hit us; confirming no injuries, I asked Cantalupo to take a look around. He found a small shrapnel hole in the side of the compartment, but no systems damage. Close one!

On the way back over the Sicilian coast, we finally saw a potential attacker – Sgt Cross in the ball turret came on the intercom to tell us that a single Me110 was shaping to attack from 3 o’clock low, but – again – the fighter boys made short work of him before he even got close.


INBOUND

Zones 8 – 1: The rest of the trip was stunningly uneventful! There were no further attacks on us, and the Cannonball purred along without any of the systems missing a beat.

The weather over Maison Blanche was still great when it came into view, making a perfect landing easy to accomplish.

This was a real confidence booster for the crew. While the boys weren’t happy that they had nothing to shoot at, I reminded them that when they did, those targets always shot back! That stopped their grumbling, as we already saw some guys we trained with go down in “Under The Gun” on the last mission.

The teamwork is developing well, and intercom discipline is improving. We know that we have been lucky so far, and with this new front opening up in Italy, it probably means more frequent missions, which also means more chances not to return. Still – we celebrated another successful mission, then commiserated with 2Lt Brest when he returned from the bombardiers’ debrief to let us know that only 20% of our load went on target. We cheered him up by reminding him that more experienced crews had failed to hit the target last time, and did this time too!


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)

Zone 1: Smooth take off and formed up without incident.

Zones 2 – 8: Nothing untoward - for us. We had no bother with fighters as we closed in on the Sicilian coast, but the 79th, holding the low position in the formation, attracted quite a few bogeys. One plane [later identified as "Oconomowoc"] was having a bad time as three Fw190s homed in on her. Cross, with a clear view, gave us a running commentary. Hopes were raised when one 190 was damaged and disengaged, but seconds later Cross's "JESUS!!!" over the intercom, plus the huge concussion from an explosion signalled the end of ten of our comrades. The bomb load must have been hit, as the fuselage completely disintegrated, with the wings spinning down on their own. The crew never had a chance. Quite a few like us on the ship (rookies, or nearly so), but two guys had over 20 missions, and were close to going home. A cruel end for men that had faced death on so many occasions.

Zone 9: This event ensured that the tension rose as we approached our IP, but our fighter cover was VERY busy today – some of the more experienced crews said that they hadn’t seen such numbers so close to the target area before.

They certainly did their job, as we were not bothered by any enemy fighters as we approached the IP and began the run in to the target. The flak was heavier than last month, and a couple of near misses shook the Cannonball, but no damage was reported. 2Lt Brest got us on a smooth course into the target, and despite a bit of cloud cover, seemed to put a good number of our bombs on it.

We turned for home, everyone still on edge due to the continuing threat from flak and fighters. Another near miss from the flak gunners rocked us, but – again – no damage was reported. Others weren’t so lucky, as a sudden shout from Cross in the ball turret drew our attention to another bomber in the low formation. We could clearly see that most of the nose section was missing, and the plane entered a steep dive, with only two guys making it out. Even with binoculars, Brest was unable to identify the bomber’s name due to the nose damage, but noted the serial number for our report. [42-31125] A silence fell over the Cannonball as every one of us realised that it could just as easily have been our turn rather than those planes. The scuttlebutt at the base regarding the Axis starting to fold and not having the stomach for a fight was obviously way off target.

The Italians joined the party as three C.202s shaped to attack our formation, but a flight of Lightnings gave them something to think about instead. None of the C.202s pressed on past the fighters to attack our formation.


INBOUND

Zone 8: The Luftwaffe fighters must have refuelled and rearmed, as four Me109s dived on us from in front. Our fighters, once again, did their job, causing two of them to peel off, but the other two opened up on us.

The thump of their cannon was drowned out by multiple guns firing from our plane. Holbrook and Newbern missed the attacker coming in from 1030 high, but there was a cheer from some others as both Brest (on the nose gun) and Cantalupo in the top turret dealt with the one ahead and above us. The 109’s port wing folded up and the aircraft began to spin earthwards. The pilot wasted no time hitting the silk!

The other pilot was both more skilful and elusive; Ripa was also unable to hit him with the tail guns as the 109 manoeuvred for another pass at us. He came in from dead ahead and above us, corkscrewing enough so that Brest and Cantalupo were unable to repeat their earlier performance. Several thumps indicated that we had been hit, but this obviously very experienced pilot was coming round again for a third pass; Ripa was again unsuccessful putting him off with the tail guns.

The 109’s guns hammered again, as did ours, with both sides showing no quarter. Cross shouted over the intercom from the ball turret that he thought he’d hit the engine or prop of the attacker; none of our other shooters managed anything close to that. Perhaps Cross was right, as the 109 pilot broke off after this final pass and headed home.

A quick inspection of the ship showed no serious damage at all – I think we were lucky with this one!

The 79th had a terrible day today - we saw another of their aircraft go down after this attack, but at least 8 chutes were seen. [Aircraft later identified as "Miss Hap" - pilot and co-pilot incapacitated by enemy fire; remainder of crew bailed out safely]

Zones 7 – 1: The rest of the trip was thankfully uneventful, as far as fighter attack was concerned. We were over safe ground or sea, and the opposition’s ability to attack us outside of the areas they control is diminishing day by day.

As we approached the Tunisian coast, the elevator response became very sluggish, and we were unable to trim the aircraft to remain straight and level. It was not too serious, so we decided not to divert, but to continue to Maison Blanche.

The weather over the base was still clear, and despite the elevator problem, we made a safe touchdown.

After parking up, we had a look round and found three small holes where the Me109 pilot had hit us, any of which could have been a lot more serious.

Another relatively smooth run for us, with some tense moments, but no injuries and no serious damage to our bird.

Reporting in on the bomber we saw go down without its nose, we found out that it was “No Regrets” – another plane where the majority of the crew were those we trained with in the States. I am just hoping that the Cannonball doesn’t join them and “Under The Gun” to make a hat-trick of rookie crews lost.

We did celebrate a bit, as Brest found that he’d had his best day so far, with 40% of our bombs on target, plus Cantalupo had his 109 kill confirmed – our first full kill as a crew! However, the huge losses suffered by the 79th Sqn meant that such celebrations as took place were pretty muted.

We had expected to be busier than this, but I suppose the fighting in Sicily is more a job for our fighter bombers than us. Hopefully, it won’t be another month of training missions before we get over there again!


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)

Zone 1: Great weather again for this mission, so no drama getting off the deck and joining up with the formation.

Zones 2 – 3: Easy flying; no problems. Not so for some others - Great Expectations, flying as tail-end Charlie on this mission, aborted just after we crossed the coast with heating problems.

Zone 4: The Cannonball suddenly dipped and banked right. Arnone and I wrestled the plane back under control (with difficulty), then spotted that the autopilot failure warning light was on. We pulled the CB for the system and looked forward to several hours of manual flying!

Zones 5 – 8: Nothing to report as we closed in on, then crossed, the Italian coast.

Zone 9: Things heated up pretty quickly as we made for the final IP in our approach to the target. With no fighter cover today over the target zone (I assume that our friends can’t quite reach out this far) the opposition were very active. Firstly, three Fw190s homed in on us from ahead: 1030 and 1200, two at high level and one at our altitude.

Cantalupo made short work of the one at 1030 high – the pilot never got the chance to fire at us as the engineer’s twin guns shredded the starboard wing of the fighter, which burst into flames and span away. The pilot was out of the cockpit in seconds, avoiding an horrific death.

With two coming in directly ahead, Brest picked the one at high level, but failed to connect. As that pilot manoeuvred past our aircraft to come around again, Ripa on the tail guns reckoned he made contact – he was probably correct, as the pilot peeled off and headed home.

The remaining pilot pulled off a skilful turn and roll to position himself off our port side. Cantalupo, Cross and Newbern all opened up on the last bogey, with Cross insisting it was his fire that shot some panels off the Fw’s starboard wing. This probably put off the pilot’s aim, as he failed to hit us; passed close by without clipping us, and then dived away home.

The guys had just finished reloading when a lone Re.2001 took a fancy to us from 9 o’clock low. Our gunners were on the ball today, as Cross duplicated Cantalupo’s earlier shot, virtually severing the fighter’s tail before he could even get in position for a shot at us. The fast spin the remainder of the aircraft went into must have trapped the pilot inside, as no chute was seen.

The run-in to the target was skilfully managed by Brest and Arnone, considering the autopilot problem. While it didn’t look like we’d matched our performance from last week, the bombs were on target, which was great work. The flak over the target, and as we turned for home, was nowhere as bad as last time, and we escaped without a scratch.

Considering the number of fighters targeting other parts of the formation, I am amazed that none came near us. Our gunners helped out on a couple of bandits attacking other aircraft of the 80th, but without success.


INBOUND

Zone 8: Just as we began to think we might not see any more action this trip, a lone C.202 dived down on us from above and behind us to the left. Cantalupo and Newbern opened up on it, both claiming over the intercom that they’d hit it.

The Italian pilot pushed his attack very close, and the thump of shells hitting us mixed with yells from the intercom. Cross reckoned that our guys had done something terminal to the Italian kite, as it was spiralling away, out of control. Everyone, however, was more focused on Beckworth’s curses over the intercom, his shouting of, “Tony!! Tony!!” and then the sound of him throwing up.

I sent Khalapov back to investigate. He reported that the waist area was a mess. It looked like one of the Italian’s shells had hit the ammo box on Newbern’s gun, spraying shrapnel around the whole compartment. He went quiet as he told us that Newbern was gone, as was most of his head. Our first casualty…

Our second was still alive, however, and very vocal. Khalapov helped Beckworth get his heavy coat off, and found a piece of shrapnel in his right bicep. Carefully dressing it, and with the gunner accepting a shot of morphine, Beckworth confirmed he was OK to cover his station until we got home.

The port waist gun was fine, once a fresh box of ammo was loaded, so I asked Brest to cover back there for the rest of the trip.

It seems that we weren't the only ones suffering as one of the 79th's aircraft dropped out of formation as we recovered from our attackers. Couldn't make out any details, but found out after landing that it was Duchess, whose crew managed to limp into El-Aouina despite their crate being declared CAT-E on landing!

Zones 7 – 1: We made it back home without further incident, but the usual joshing about sports, what we’d do once we landed, and the merits of Hollywood’s finest females that normally filled the intercom once the tension of the mission was gone were absent today. We’ve been together as a crew for six months now, and Tony’s death was a marker that we hoped we’d never reach.

The weather over the base was still clear, so we lined up for an uneventful landing after signalling casualties on board with a red flare. The landing was not as uneventful as expected, as the flaps failed to move to the landing position. However, we managed a textbook approach at a slightly high airspeed without further incident.

After the groundcrew had given the aircraft a once-over, they found one of the flap screwjacks on the starboard wing had been damaged in one of our engagements today.

A sad day for the Cannonball – we all stood, hats off, heads bowed, as the medics took away our friend’s body. Beckworth will be OK; he is getting three days of annoying the nurses in the medical centre while the stitches in his arm do their work, and they check that the wound doesn’t get infected.

Cantalupo didn’t put a claim in for the bandit that killed Newbern; Tony was firing as well, so the top gunner insisted that the claim went to our dead friend. Sadly, it was the only one today to be outright refused. The post sortie debrief reckoned that we’d put 30% of our bombs on target, which is a great result, considering it was done without help from the autopilot.

I’ve written to Newbern’s parents, expressing my condolences. The letter for his posthumous Purple Heart is in, as is the letter for Beckworth’s. I need to contact the squadron office for a replacement for Tony – I hope that this will not kill the morale of the crew, as they did well today under difficult conditions.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

Before the AAR, just a word about this mission. This trip resulted in the highest number of enemy attackers I've encountered since I got the game in March. I also think that I've burned up a lot of luck, or that those rubbish rolls I've been getting in other games have evened themselves out in the space of a couple of hours! I rolled at least 4 12s that I can remember on 2d6, probably more. More tellingly, when rolling for the damage from enemy attacks, no matter where it went, it ended up as superficial (apart from poor Sgt. Khalapov's head wound). I also could not believe the number of easier to hit heavy fighters that ended up in the mix, resulting in quite a few kills. I bet my next mission, there's a BIP that wipes us out!


After Action report: (using TfT)
Zone 1: Another glorious day in North Africa, which made take-off and joining the formation a breeze.

Zones 2 – 7: The Cannonball purred along with no hint of the flying control problem from our previous mission. An easy transit before the hard work started. Some don't have it so easy - King, from the port waist, calls out, "Hey! Someone's heading home already from the 78th." Looking up and back, it was easy to see the stricken B-24, leaving a trail of oily smoke behind it, as it descended on a heading back to Mason Blanche. Holbrook gets the glasses on it and reckons the number 4 engine has failed catastrophically. Hope they make it back OK - but no credit for this mission will hurt, I guess.

Zone 8: It’s quite unusual seeing Sicily to the south as we close in on the mainland. Only a couple of months ago we would have been knee-deep in opposing fighters. We weren’t totally disappointed, as a lone Me110, for some reason, thought a vertical climb attack in that huge target was a good idea! Sgt Cross, in the ball turret, quickly changed that pilot’s mind, landing some solid hits on the heavy fighter. The German made a half-hearted attempt to hit us, failed, and dove away to safety.

Zone 9: The run-in to the target saw things heat up in a hurry. We had a few more fighters covering us than last mission – but not that many. A lone Me109 mirrored the attack of the earlier 110, this time coming down fast from above. The bogey’s approach angle meant that none of the escort fighters could intercept him. Khalapov and Cantalupo were unsuccessful in making contact with the speeding target, but the German’s momentum carried him away from us without him managing to damage us.

Cantalupo and Beckworth almost immediately called out new targets as a couple of Fw190s split up and approached from 1030 high and abeam us on the starboard side. Cantalupo opened up in the top turret on the one just off to our port forward side, joined by Holbrook on the left cheek gun and King in the port waist. Their competing claims of hits were drowned out by yells from Cross in the ball turret and Beckworth in the starboard waist, who disposed of their attacker in a spectacular explosion – probably a fuel tank hit. The ensuing fireball meant that the pilot had no chance to abandon the aircraft.

Our other attacker was doing his best to avoid taking more damage, but his manoeuvring meant that his own aim was off. As he dove away to disengage, Ripa on the tail guns gave him a parting shot, but failed to connect.

The boys had just enough time to reload before a swarm of four Me109s appeared – all ahead of us, limiting our ability to fire upon them. Holbrook and King opened up on the attacker at 1030 high, but their fire was ineffective. Cantalupo, in his turret, and Brest on the nose gun focused on the one at 1200 high, one of them inflicting minor damage to the attacker’s starboard wing.

All four poured the cannon fire down on us, but – amazingly – we only suffered one hit, somewhere inconsequential in the port wing. Three of the four attackers rolled and twisted into positions for a new attack, with the one we damaged rolling away for home. Ripa tried his luck on one as it swooped to its new attack position, but we heard him cursing as he failed to connect again.

The bogey with the red spinner came within inches of hitting us, but managed to modify his approach at the last second. The remaining attackers manoeuvred at our altitude, two coming in from off our port bow, the other off our starboard side.

Cantalupo and Holbrook took on the two off our port bow, but neither connected. Cross, in contrast, was having a great day as another bogey blew up after he made solid contact with his gunnery. Once again, no chute was seen.

The two ahead of us opened up as they closed, and a thump indicated another hit on us - once again, it didn’t appear to be anything vital. The ace German managed to get behind us, and his remaining companion came in below us, off to our left side. Ripa tried to hit one of them as they zoomed past us, but once again failed to connect.

Cheers from our new arrival, Sgt. King in the port waist position, and Cross - again! - saw a third bandit fall to our gunnery. Once again, it was a fuel hit of some sort; once again, the pilot didn’t escape.

Ripa’s bad day continued, as he was unable to hit the skilful bogey on our six. Thankfully, the German was also unable to hit us, and peeled off for home, probably out of ammo.

Holbrook quickly checked our position, and we altered course to hit the IP for our run in to the target. Brest took control with his bombsight, and managed to spot the target early through a break in the patchy cloud cover. The flak was lighter than expected, and none came close to hitting us. Our lead plane, however - Mel's Mess - called that they had been hit, and the bomb bay doors would not open. They gradually dropped down and back, so I assumed that the bomb bay doors was not the only problem they had. Our run seemed to be a textbook drop - the bombardier grinned as he said that he thought this would be our best run ever!

The flak on the run out back over the Med was light too, but the Luftwaffe were obviously making up for the fact that Italy had surrendered earlier in the month. We had never been given this much attention on previous missions.

We weren't the only ones suffering - Ripa came over the intercom to tell us that the plane flying tail-end Charlie for the 79th, in the middle of our formation, had dropped back, descended, and was turning south towards Sicily. Some unlucky crew was going to have to take over from them.

Then it was our turn again: through another gap in our escort cover, three heavy fighters - Me110s - closed in on us, two from ahead of us, one on our 6. Cantalupo and Ripa finally cheered up as the bigger silhouette and slower speed of these two-seaters made them easier to hit. Both gunners brought down their targets: Ripa’s target suffered yet another fuel tank explosion; Cantalupo stitched his fire across the port wing of the attacker, which sheared off, making the crippled aircraft spin out of control. A bad day for the Luftwaffe aircrew, as all four occupants went down with their aircraft. The remaining enemy aircraft hit us with a couple of shots to the fuselage behind the cockpit and moved round off our starboard side.

Both King and Cross got a solid bead on the last attacker as he approached and both made contact. At least one of them hit the port engine, which blew up and enveloped the rest of the plane in a fireball. Another two Luftwaffe aircrew went down with their aircraft.

Again, we barely had time for the gunners to reload before another wave of attackers arrived: an Me109 low off the starboard side, with an accompanying Me110 coming in from low in the front right arc. The former’s approach made him impossible for our gunners to hit, but Cross, Beckworth and Holbrook (on the right cheek gun) all reckoned they hit. Either our shooting was super-accurate today, or Lady Luck was with us, as yet another bogey exploded under their concentrated fire, with no escape for the aircrew.

The Me109 came so close that I thought he would hit us, but at the last second he changed course and he turned away to come in again from the same quadrant. This time, our dynamic duo of Cross and Beckworth didn’t fail us, and the last attacker had his starboard wing flying controls shot away, sending him into an uncontrollable spin, the pilot unable to escape.

Immediately after this, Beckworth called our attention to the 79th's replacement tail-end aircraft dropping out of formation and turning south with only three engines running. Looks like that squadron are having another bad trip. We mentally wished them a safe landing before focusing back on our own problems.


INBOUND

Zone 8: Checking in over the intercom, we got no reply from Khalapov in the radio room. With his major job done for today, I sent Brest back to investigate. He reported that Teddy was unconscious with a bad head wound. Brest made him comfortable and bandaged the wound. I instructed Brest to stay with Teddy and man the radio for the rest of the trip. I guess one of those earlier thumps we heard was a shell hitting the radio room.

Soon after, we were attacked by three more heavy fighters: two Me110s – both low, one behind us and one off the starboard side, plus an Me210 off our left front side.

Ripa continued the theme of the day, putting a stream of tracer into the one behind us causing the port engine to burst into flames, then explode, taking the aircraft and aircrew with it.

Cross and Beckworth again hammered away at the one coming up on us from starboard. Both hit the aircraft, with Beckworth claiming that he smashed the canopy. He could be correct, as the plane rolled over and spiralled away groundwards – no chutes were seen.

Holbrook, King and Cantalupo all had clear shots at the remaining Me210, and they wasted no time in stitching him up good. All three reckoned they hit, with one of them shredding the right wing, resulting in another kill, and another two dead German aircrew.

The Luftwaffe must be getting desperate, as our final encounter of the day was yet another heavy fighter, rather than a single-seater, an Me410 coming in above and in front of us. Holbrook was unable to bring the nose gun to bear, but Cantalupo made contact, though not enough to stop the German pressing his attack.

A couple of thumps indicated that their attack was successful, but once again, nothing critical appeared to have been hit. Ripa missed a chance to take the 410 down as it soared around to press another attack from below us on our front starboard side.

Ball, Beckworth and Holbrook all begin firing as the 410 attacked again, but Holbrook quickly called out that the right cheek gun had jammed on him. Beckworth couldn’t make a shot count, but Cross tracked the Jerry all the way in with accurate fire. The Luftwaffe pilot’s last act was an ineffective burst at us before Cross finished him off with yet another spectacular explosion from which no aircrew escaped.

Zones 7 – 1: Moving into friendly territory, I had Ripa come forward and monitor Khalapov’s condition while Brest continued as stand-in radio man.

Ripa said that Khalapov was pale, but breathing normally, although still unconscious. This didn’t change before we landed.

Holbrook tried to unjam the right cheek gun, but it was solidly seized – thankfully, this happened just before friendly territory, or it could have had serious repercussions!

It was still a bright day over the base, so I lined up for final approach while Arnone signalled the ground with a red flare, telling them that we had a casualty.

The landing was fine, and the meat wagon met us as we taxied in. Teddy was still knocked out, but the medics said that other than that, and the nasty wound to his head, he seemed fine. They whisked him off to the infirmary for further treatment.

Amazingly, despite all the Luftwaffe attention, the crew-chief told us later that they had found only five areas of very minor damage on the Cannonball! The trip could have been a lot worse.


Our survival was down to our gunners’ performance – especially Sgt. Cross, who claimed 7 enemies downed. He was ably backed up by the other NCOs, all of whom had at least one claim to put in. Frustratingly, Cross ended up with four and two-thirds confirmed kills – one third short of the quantity needed for an automatic DFC. I have nominated him for the award anyway; failing that, a Mention in Dispatches.

Sadly, when I went to visit S/Sgt Khalapov in the infirmary, the doctors told me that he has a serious skull fracture and will need to be transferred to Rome, or maybe even back Stateside, for treatment. I told the rest of the crew, and we all made sure we were there when he was being flown out, but Teddy remained unconscious and oblivious to our farewells as his stretcher was loaded into a C-47. I will need to see the XO and organise a replacement for him.

Cross got over his disappointment at not being awarded five full kills, as the ones he did get put him over the magic number five that is needed to be regarded as an Ace. That celebration was further enhanced by the fact that (other than Sgt. King) the rest of us have completed five missions, so are no longer rookies! I had the guys in their best uniforms on parade the next day for their Air Medal award.

Finally, with a stunned look on his face as he returned from the bombardiers’ intelligence debrief, 2Lt Brest informed us that 97% of our bombs hit the target!! (I rolled a 12 for the bomb run, then a 9). More celebrations tonight, as well as a nomination for Brest to receive the Distinguished Flying Cross.

I have put the requests in for Brest’s and Cross’s awards, as well as Teddy’s Purple Heart. I also wrote to Teddy’s parents to let him know his condition, as well as how much he will be missed by us all.

After the pain of losing Tony on the last mission, I was really worried about how this one would pan out. Seems that I was worrying about nothing, as this was by far the most difficult mission we have undertaken so far, and while not totally unscathed, it could have been a LOT worse. Sgt. King has proved his worth to the other gunners, so is settling in nicely – a mission like this does a lot for morale, so I am hopeful for the future of us all in the Cannonball.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG


Addendum: Crew morale was boosted further by HQ being very prompt in confirming my DFC recommendations for 2Lt Brest and Sgt Cross. A couple more nights where they didn’t need to buy any beers!

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
With the short turn-round between missions compared to the last couple of months, we barely had time to meet our new radio operator before the briefings began. T/Sgt. Norton seems very capable and confident, however, and his rank makes him senior NCO in the crew. He comes with an excellent record, but it will have to be seen how he reacts to live combat.

Zone 1: A beautiful September morning greeted us on the way to the aircraft, with the startup and take off proceeding without incident. We were easily able to see the formation above us as we climbed, and joined it without mishap.

Zones 2 – 6: Things were going fine until about half-way to the target. Sgt. Cross came over the intercom to tell us that the ball turret would not move. Cantalupo went to take a look, with Norton assisting him. They eventually reset the CBs for the electrical control and the hydraulic feed for the turret, which managed to get it moving again. Something for our ground crew to look at in detail when we get back, I think.

While we were fixing the turret, Ripa said, “Look at that!” As we couldn’t really see behind us, I asked Ripa what was up. “Looks like an engine fire,“ came the reply. Sure enough, a minute or two later, “Great Expectations” called the squadron saying that they were heading home due to an oil fire in number 2 engine. “Detroit Dame” called in saying that they would fall back to fill the tail-end slot.

Zone 7: Coming in over the Med, it was quite easy to see the swarms of opposing fighters climbing to meet us, as well as the ones already in position to defend La Spezia. We were all fervently wishing that our usual friends weren’t so involved further south, but we pushed on regardless.

While other aircraft seemed to be attracting a lot of attention, only a couple of Luftwaffe fighters headed our way initially: one each of a Me109 and Me110. Neither had a chance to bother us more, as Holbrook on the right cheek gun took out the heavy fighter with a burst that seriously damaged its starboard wing, while Cross in the ball turret (probably inspired by his DFC award this week) continued his sterling defensive work by causing the Me109’s starboard wing to catch fire. Both aircraft headed groundward, out of control. Both crew got out of the 110; the 109’s pilot went down with the plane.

This left us completely clear of enemy attention as we turned over the IP and ran in towards the target. 2Lt Brest and the autopilot did a great job keeping us on the correct course, as the flak was the heaviest we had encountered in any of our missions. Cross informed us of that one of the 79th's aircraft below us had been hit bad by the flak and was aborting their bombing run to turn south-west. (Aircraft subsequently identified as "Mel's Mess"). Two very close calls rocked the Cannonball and disrupted our approach slightly, but Brest got us back on track and released the bombs over the target. (Subsequent photo-recce analysis estimates that 40% of our bombs were on target.)

It seemed that the enemy wanted to share out the damage amongst all three squadrons today. Our lead bomber, “Salvo Sal”, took multiple flak hits, then started to lose speed and height. Unfortunately, we only saw three chutes appear. As “The Baroness” pushed forward to take over the lead, there was a loud thump, and we could see another of our bombers, this time from the low formation of the 79th Squadron, tumble earthwards with its starboard wing on fire. (Aircraft later identified as “Little Lulu”). This time, we counted 10 chutes, but we won’t see those guys again until this war is finished. Seconds later, Cross reported another 79th aircraft had exploded and was now on fire and tumbling out of formation. No chutes at all were seen this time. (Aircraft later identified as "Able Mabel").

We turned away out over the sea again with flak continuing to puff around us, but it eased off as we left the target area, again failing to damage us.

However, that left the skies clear for more Luftwaffe attention, and it arrived in the shape of three Me109s – one off our port side, the other two ahead of us, one to the left, one to the right. Holbrook, on the right cheek gun was unable to repeat his earlier accuracy, and Sgt King in the left waist was similarly unsuccessful with the one coming in from 9 o’clock. However, S/Sgt Cantalupo, manning the upper turret, shot the port wingtip and aileron off the Me109 swooping in from 10:30 and it span away, the pilot not getting out on the way down. There was a thump from the centre section of the aircraft as at least one of the enemy fighters made successful contact. Both aircraft rolled around for another pass, and Ripa, on the tail guns reckoned he winged one of them, but not enough to put them off.

We now had one off the port side again, at the same altitude as us, while the other was off our starboard bow, slightly below us. All of the gunners who could target one or other of the bogeys opened up as they came back in range. None of those targeting the one below and ahead of us were able to inflict major damage; thankfully, despite pushing very close in on his attack, the German pilot also missed us. I could see his bright yellow scarf clearly as he banked past our nose, so close I thought that we could not avoid him – but somehow, both aircraft came out unscathed! (rolled a 12 for possible collision, but then avoided it!)

His companion was not so lucky – while Sgt King in the port waist position did not manage to hit the 109, Cantalupo put the twin streams of tracer from the top turret into the Jerry’s cockpit, causing the aircraft to spiral out of control. No chute was seen, so a possible pilot kill.

Ripa gave the survivor a blast as he disengaged, but failed to connect.

Reloading was still in progress when 2Lt Brest called out, “More bogeys! Dead ahead!!”

Sure enough an Fw190 was ahead and above us, with two of the new heavy fighter type, the Me410, coming in from the starboard front quadrant. Ripa added that he had a Fw190 for company off our six as well.

The sound of multiple guns opening up on their targets was deafening, but we could still here Ripa screaming, “JAM!! JAM!!” on the intercom from the tail section. Our shooters were as ineffective as his guns, as none reported any possible hits. Thankfully, the three aircraft ahead of us were very inaccurate, totally missing us. The one behind us, however, having no defensive fire to dodge, lined us up good, and there were multiple hits on the aircraft – nothing was immediately problematic, but all four opponents were shifting position to attack again. The Fw190 doing so from behind us almost smashed into our tail (Rolled another 12, then a 5!) then thought better of having another go at us, and headed home.

Our gunners were much more accurate this time: both of the 410s went down, one hit in the cockpit area by Beckworth, the other hit by King and Cross simultaneously, destroying the fighter’s port wing flying controls. No crew escaped from either aircraft.

Cantalupo reported a solid hit on the remaining Fw190, but that pilot pressed home his attack before diving away for home.

Shortly afterwards, T/Sgt Norton reported that Ripa had appeared in the radio room, saying that his oxygen had failed. He’d plugged in to the spare regulator there until we cleared the enemy area, then he’d go and try to unjam his guns.

Cantalupo reported yet another wave of fighters ahead of us – four Me109s. With them all being in the front two quadrants, it limited the guns we could bring to bear. However, their differing altitudes helped us in that regard.

2Lt Brest, on the nose gun, virtually destroyed the rudder of the one ahead and below us. The fighter pushed on, missed us, then disengaged, struggling for control.

Cantalupo blasted the port wing of the one attacking dead ahead, making it turn away, then tumble uncontrollably – we didn’t see if the pilot got out.

Holbrook engaged the bogey in our 1030 quadrant at our altitude with the left cheek gun, scoring a successful hit. The pilot continued his attack, struggling with the aircraft, as our navigator had shot up the 109’s port elevator. This caused yet another near miss as the German aircraft twisted at the last second and dived underneath us (Rolled yet another 12, followed by a 1!!) He limped away home, not bothering us further.

King and Cross engaged the bogey at 1030 low. Cross hit the port wing, which exploded, taking the rest of the aircraft with it – no chute was seen.

With no more opposition visible, I put the Cannonball into a shallow dive and had Norton radio the formation that we were dropping to 10000 feet due to oxygen problems. At almost the same time, “The Baroness” said that they were doing the same, so we formated on them for mutual protection. Not sure who took the lead for the 80th after that. "Mel's Mess," also from our squadron, called in a few minutes later saying that multiple fuel tank hits had them on fumes, and they were altering course to head for Cagliari.

Ripa grabbed a walk-round bottle to cover the time of the descent and went back to the tail to work on freeing up his guns. Just after reaching our new altitude, he came on the intercom saying that both were now operational again.


INBOUND

Zone 6: I had thought that our problems were over, but that illusion was shattered by Cantalupo calling out bogeys ahead of us. Sure enough, two Fw190s were moving in from dead ahead – I think they’ve figured out that this is where we have the fewest guns we can point their way. They’ll get a shock once we get one of those shiny new B-17Gs with the fancy twin-gun nose turret on it.

For the moment, though, it was down to Cantalupo and Brest to deal with the threat – unfortunately, neither one managed a hit of any consequence. Both Fw’s pushed in close, with the one diving in from 1200 high managing several solid hits, but thankfully, with no immediate change to the handling of the aircraft. His companion failed to hit us, and both manoeuvred for a second pass. However, during that time, Norton informed us that the radio was out, the power supply having taken a shrapnel hit.

The one that had hit us was one of the best fliers we had seen – his aircraft easily dodged Ripa’s attempted passing shot as the German pilot rolled in on us from below our starboard side.

His companion had positioned himself in our 1:30 quadrant, but he did not get a chance to open fire. Cantalupo and Holbrook got a walking hit on his fuselage, sending the aircraft down in pieces, the pilot jumping clear of the wreckage.

Unfortunately, the skilful pilot in the other enemy aircraft again avoided the defensive fire, this time from Cross and Beckworth. He revenged his friend with a walking hit of his own along the bottom port side before executing a perfect barrel roll and heading off back in the direction of the Italian mainland. The lower plexiglass area in the nose was broken, the yolk jumped in my hand as a flying control or its cables were hit, someone was screaming over the intercom, and someone else was trying to scream information over that.

I ordered everyone to be quiet, and to report in. There was still a low moaning coming over the intercom, and Ripa revealed that it was him, and he’d been hit. I ordered Norton back to see how badly injured Ripa was while the rest reported in. Brest reported that he was okay, but that Holbrook had been hit in the head by shrapnel and appeared dead. I asked Arnone to go and take a look. He returned shortly afterwards to tell me that there was no doubt – there was a baseball-sized hole in the side of Holbrook’s skull.

Norton reported better news about Ripa – while he had been hit, it was in the guts, so while painful, was not immediately fatal. Norton patched him up, then helped him forward to the radio room before giving him a shot of morphine.

I instructed King to take over in the tail, leaving Beckworth to manage the waist guns. Holbrook had given us the heading for home after the bombing run, so after a check of the charts and a discussion between Arnone and Brest, it appeared that we were heading in the right direction.

Zones 5 – 1: It was a quiet run home again, as we have now lost three crew, two fatally, in the last three missions. I was hoping before arriving here, that such incidents would be rare, but with whole planeloads of crew going down on each mission, reality is a lot harsher.

We were unable to radio Maison Blanche, so I approached the airfield and joined the circuit, having Arnone fire off red and yellow flares so that the appropriate emergency vehicles would be available when we landed.

Everything seemed fine as we turned onto final approach – flaps, engines and flying controls seemed fine, even after all the lead that had hit us. However, when I called for Arnone to lower the landing gear, he called out shortly afterwards, “Only one green, sir!” The port gear had either not locked in the down position, or the indicator was faulty. Brest and Arnone confirmed visually that the gear appeared down, so we continued the approach.

The gear held on landing, and we all released the breath that we’d been holding. As soon as I pressed on the brakes we sucked it back in again – the Cannonball slewed hard left, barely controllable. I had Arnone stay on the brakes while I applied hard right rudder and called for 90% power on engines 1 and 2. This managed to counteract the tendency to turn left and we brought the aircraft under control. We shut down on the taxiway, as we had no idea what had caused the swerve to happen, so our ship would be safer being towed back to its hardstanding than us taking it there ourselves.

We had another solemn moment, our third in three trips, as the medical team took away the body of our dead friend. Holbrook was quietly efficient at the tasks he had on the aircraft, and not being one of the crew’s extroverts, his contribution could have been overlooked if not for the fact that his navigational and mathematical skills had saved us on at least two of our previous missions.

Another ambulance picked up Sgt Ripa, who said he was fine, and would see us in the bar later, but that was the morphine talking. Checking in with the Medical Centre, they said that he had a nasty gash in his abdomen, and that his intestines had minor damage from the shrapnel. However, he should be back with us in six days or so, as they can treat him here. Good news – as long as the next mission is not within the next six days!

The war has really hit home now – we have seen friends taken from us and have no illusions about how difficult it will be to complete a tour of twenty-five missions. Stephen is the third of our original crew that we’ve lost, but if we get another replacement like the two we have already received, we will do fine.

While we took the most damage ever to the Cannonball on this trip, our luck still holds, to some extent. One of the hits we took had made the bomb doors inoperable – thankfully, that must have happened after the bomb run. The problems on landing were due to the port landing gear indication system being damaged by shrapnel, then the starboard wheel brake lines being cut by more of the same. The crew chief tells me that, even with all of the damage she’s taken, the aircraft will be serviceable within 24 hours.

I will write to Holbrook’s parents later, as well as get the paperwork done for the Purple Heart awards due to him and Ripa.



1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)

Some good news prior to starting the mission – I was able to read out a letter to the rest of the crew from Teddy Khalapov, our previous radio operator. He tells us that he is now in a fancy hospital in New York, where he is undergoing tests to see how bad his head injury is. He says that he feels fine, despite having a 3-week nap after being hit by that shrapnel on our way home from Salerno last month. Good news that raised everyone’s spirits prior to take-off.

Our new navigator, 2Lt Mario Delaney, fitted in well during the month of training since our last mission. We are all hoping that the slightly better fighter cover we can expect on this mission will provide more help than we had in the last couple.

Zone 1: The year is entering its final quarter, as evidenced by the fog and drizzle over the base as the Group got under way to Rome. The mission didn't start well, with our lead bomber, The Baroness, reporting an engine fire after startup, and not even making it to the runway! As we watched the rest of our squadron take off while we waited for the final takeoff slot as tail-end Charlie, another one of our squadron called an air abort for an engine fire. Departures were halted to allow Scarlet Pumpernickel to land with its #3 engine inoperable. Thankfully, they made it down without incident. We took off without any incidents of our own, and soon climbed above the bad weather to join the formation without any problems. We all hoped that the gremlins in our comrades' aircraft weren't contagious.

Zones 2 – 7: Nothing adverse to report on the run-in to Italy. Number 3 engine did run a little rough about an hour from the coast, but Cantalupo adjusted the fuel mixture and it started purring again.

Zone 8: Well, for all the promises of better fighter cover, we didn’t see any! We were greeted in our approach to Rome by a swarm of five Me109s. They were mainly off our port side, with one directly ahead and above us, with the last directly behind and above us.

As they swooped in on us, our guns thundered back at them. We had immediate success, with Brest on the nose gun managing a minor hit on the one dead ahead, but the German pressed home his attack.

Norton on the radio room gun, and Ripa in the tail, both engaged the one above and behind us. Norton missed, but Ripa did some minor damage to the bogey’s starboard wing – but not enough to get him to break off his attack.

The multiple targets to port meant that fire could not be concentrated sufficiently. However, Cross in the ball turret displayed why he is an ace gunner, shredding the starboard wing of one causing the aircraft to explode, giving the pilot no chance to escape.

Unfortunately, Cantalupo in the top turret and King on the port waist gun were unable to make contact with the other two to port. The surviving bandits opened up on us as they closed the range, but they may have been less experienced pilots, as only one managed to hit us. Sadly, that hit immediately had Brest calling “Delaney’s down! Delaney’s down!” from the nose compartment. As we still had live targets trying to kill us, I ordered the crew to concentrate on getting us out of this situation before we looked to the casualty.

Two of the remaining fighters broke off after their attack, while the other two positioned themselves behind us and off our starboard bow. Fewer targets this time allowed some concentrated fire from our gunners. Brest, on the right cheek gun, Beckworth in the right waist and Cross combined to destroy the attacker at the 130 position in a ball of flame, but the pilot was seen jumping clear.

Cantalupo, Norton and Ripa took on the one at our six, several shots hitting home as the 109 closed in. As he opened fire himself, he failed to hit us and the aircraft spiralled out of control as the starboard wing snapped off, then the rest exploded. Ripa reported that he didn’t see any sign of the pilot getting out.

As the skies cleared of opposing fighters, they filled with the familiar sight and sound of anti-aircraft fire. Once again, this was some heavily concentrated fire, but unlike last month, nothing really came close.

I ordered Brest to concentrate on the bomb run, then got T/Sgt Norton to move forward from the radio room to the nose compartment and see how badly wounded Delaney was. He reported that Delaney was unconscious, with a piece of shrapnel sticking out of his head. He was breathing, however, so the news wasn’t all bad. I ordered Norton to give first aid to Delaney, move him to the radio room, then return to the nose section while we are over enemy territory so that all guns can be manned there. The radio room gun can only fire in an arc covered by four other guns, so we can do without it for now. I then asked myself how the Germans manage to imbue their shrapnel with homing characteristics – the two fatalities and half of the serious wounds that we’ve had in the crew have all been shrapnel hits to the head!

The heavy flak did get some victims, however. Norton, keeping watch out of the nose compartment now, called out just as Arnone and I saw the same thing ahead of us - one of our squadron's aircraft took a flak hit to the port inboard wing, which immediately became enveloped in flame. "Fuel tank's gone, skipper," growled Norton, "Those guys ain't making back to base." The stricken aircraft banked left, endangering our formation, but someone was still in control, as they also did the emergency action - a dive to try and put out the fire. 

Norton continued to inform us of the bomber's fate. "The dive hasn't worked, " he said after a few seconds, "Whole wing's on fire now." This was immediately followed by, "They're getting out!" After nearly a minute's silence, Norton came on the com again. "Not sure how many made it out, guys - certainly not all of them." Everyone was silent as they silently prayed this wouldn't be our fate today. (Aircraft later confirmed as "Miss Bangor").

Brest managed another textbook approach to the target, and despite hardly being able to see it, put our load right on the money. (Subsequent intel evaluation estimated that 40% of our bombs landed in the target area). The brand-new B-17G in our squadron, The Vagabond, called a bomb run abort due to serious flak damage.

As we turned for home, the AA fire continued, but our luck held, and none came close. No such luck for The Vagabond: more flak hits took out their #4 engine, and with their bombs still on board plus reduced engine power, they gradually drifted backwards in the formation, eventually falling behind us. As we were focusing on that plane from our squadron, all those who could see forward of our aircraft let out an involuntary exclamation of some sort as the plane just off our starboard bow had its port wing blown up by flak, sending it into a spinning dive immediately. "That's the rookies' plane, God of Thunder!" shouted Cantalupo. We didn't see any chutes appear as the plane vanished from our view, Cross eventually informing us that he thought that only one crew member made it out.

Shortly after passing out of range of the AA guns, a 109, accompanied by a Me110, decided to have a nibble at us. The Me109 came in from ahead and below, while the 110 was also low, and slightly off to our right.

Brest, on the nose gun, and Cross in his turret made short work of the 109, hitting a wing, and its fuel tank, which resulted in another spectacular explosion – the pilot leaping clear just in time.

Norton on the starboard cheek gun, and Beckworth in the starboard waist were unfortunately unable to hit the larger fighter, but he also missed us. Ripa also missed the 110 as he manoeuvred round to attack from low on our starboard side. Beckworth tracked him all the way, and was joined accurately by Cross; their combined fire saw the port engine burst into flames and the outer port wing separate. The aircraft turned over and spiralled towards the sea, with no sign of the crew escaping.

Our ‘little friends’ seem to have fallen out with us, as there was no sign of them as another group of 109s picked us as their target. They cleverly approached from all sides bar behind us, requiring us to split our fire between them.

Cross continued his exhibition of gunnery, joined by Brest on the nose gun, as they quickly dispatched the bogey ahead and below us. Nobody could confirm if the pilot escaped, as they were too busy keeping us alive.

Beckworth was unable to hit the aircraft at 130 low, but Norton (now on the starboard cheek gun) stitched tracer along the 109’s fuselage, causing it to tumble out of control.

Cantalupo used his turret effectively, destroying the flying controls on the starboard wing of the bogey on our starboard side. The 109 lazily turned over and dived toward the sea.

King also managed to hit the bogey off our port side, but not enough to dissuade him from firing back. The German pilot got his licks in, putting at least two shells into us, but the Cannonball did not react adversely. As the 109 moved around for another attack, Cantalupo and Beckworth got a solid bead on him, one or both hitting the engine, which burst into flames. The pilot turned the aircraft away, but Cross informed us all that it just went into a dive.

INBOUND

Zones 7 – 1: While others attracted some Luftwaffe attention, we escaped, and the run home was without incident - for us, at least.

Norton moved back to his usual station in the radio room now that we were out of danger. He said that Delaney was breathing easily, and had not lost any more blood. I can’t help wondering if our plane is going to get a bad name amongst the navigators – that’s two we have lost in two trips!

Cross called on the intercom - "Hey! The 78th's lead plane is breaking formation."

"That's Roll N Tuck," Arnone interjected.

Brest (who, as usual, had his binoculars with him) sounded thoughtful as he added, "I can't see any flames, and all four engines are still running, but they're turning south. I guess we'll find out the reason back at base."

Beckworth chimed in, "One of ours is descending as well - under control though."

Brest shifted the focus of his binoculars. "It's one of the new crews - Irascible Girl - nothing really visible again, must be a systems problem."

About fifteen minutes later, Cross broke into the baseball chatter on the intercom to tell us that another aircraft, this time from the 78th Squadron, was descending. We couldn't get a look, as they were below us, but Cross and Brest said that it seemed under control, and no flames were visible. (Aircraft confirmed after landing as "Unsinkable II" - descended due to oxygen system failure; RTB successfully).

Just when we had thought it was all over, about 150 miles from home, Arnone nudged me and pointed above us. "Lead of the 79th has an engine fire," he observed. We all watched in silence, imagining the frantic scramble to get it extinguished. Unfortunately, after a couple of minutes, Brest confirmed to us that the outer port wing was now alight. Shortly afterwards, we saw the crew of Looney Tunes abandoning the aircraft. We were all mentally counting the chutes, but all came up one short of the whole crew.

Once again, for the fourth trip in a row, Arnone had to fire off a red flare to ensure an ambulance would be waiting for us. We disembarked, then waited as the medics checked out Delaney and put him in the meat wagon. One of them said, “It actually ain’t that bad – if he is still alive at this point with that metal in his head, he should eventually be OK. You will need someone to take his place, though – this isn’t something that can be fixed by a week in the Med Centre!”

Good news, I suppose, but another depressing letter to parents to be written, as Delaney is still single. And another form to be filled out to ensure that he gets his Purple Heart. I am hoping that we get back to missions where we all come back in one piece! Further bad news came in the form of the result of Looney Tunes' engine fire: nine crew got out, but three drowned before they were picked up by the Navy. The unlucky one who went down with his plane was the pilot, Oscar Evans, who had been seriously wounded earlier in the mission and could not bail out. A very sad day, as if he had made it back, he was just two more missions from completing his tour. The same also applies to Jim Thornhill, the navigator in Going My Way, who was killed in a fighter attack. Quiet preparations (so as not to bring bad luck) were already under way in the O Club for their happy departures home - I guess we didn't keep them quiet enough to deflect all the ill fortune. War is hell - literally.

There was some more good news from the Gunnery Board - Cantalupo picked up enough confirmed kills to make him an ace! I'll have to request a DFC for him from the CO - that might stop him staring at Cross's ribbon all the time.


I am beginning to wonder if we can get through twenty-five missions. The final group report from our previous mission showed a brutal level of casualties, with many aircraft being lost in their entirety. I try to be positive to keep up the crew’s morale, but reality keeps hitting home, and I am worried that none of us is going to make it.

There was virtually no damage to the plane, but our crew chief reported that it was just as well we didn’t have to ditch, as one of the Luftwaffe pilots had taken out our rubber rafts in the bomb bay!.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)

The CO’s big briefing a couple of days before the Antheor mission brief confirmed all the rumours that had been flying around the base: This trip to the south of France is likely to be our last mission at what has become home – Maison Blanche. In early November, we will be transferring the whole group to a base in Italy, which the engineers are busy making ready for us.

Everyone has been smiling since then – the collapse of the opposition in Italy means that we are closer to the end of this war, and this news has resulted in even more determination to get the job done.


Zone 1: The weather hasn’t really cleared since the last mission. Despite the clouds and rain, we took off and joined the formation without any problems. This was not the case for Apache Gold, the rookies that joined us just after the last mission. We heard the tower's radio call that they had crashed on take off. When we returned, it was a worst-case scenario: something happened on the take off run, and the plane ended up going through the perimeter fence before exploding, leaving no survivors. More good men that will never see home again.

Zones 2 – 5: Even the news at the mission briefing that our little friends are busy elsewhere and won’t be joining us today didn’t dampen the optimistic mood. That seemed justified, as nothing bothered us before the target zone.

Zone 6: It looks like the Luftwaffe were also busy elsewhere, as the only aircraft we saw all mission was a lone Me109. (Rolled 2 waves: first was a random event, a 53 on Peckham’s alternative events table. This meant that any enemy aircraft encountered would be run under JG 26 rules [Rule 10.1]. Thankfully, wave 2 was a lone Me109!)

That said, this guy showed some skill in his approach from above and ahead of us, as he rolled away from Brest’s nose gun tracer. Cantalupo got some solid hits in on the German’s rudder as he shaped to attack us, resulting in the pilot’s aim being off. Ripa was unable to finish off the 109 as it pulled a tight turn behind us and approached from above us on the port side.

King opened up on the port waist gun, while Cantalupo had tracked the Jerry the whole way, and began firing again as he came into range. King could not traverse fast enough, but Cantalupo, with the advantage of a power turret, nailed the 109’s port wing, resulting in shattered bits of flying control spraying from it. The pilot could not maintain control as the stricken plane spun and corkscrewed towards the ground; no chute was seen.

The flak on the way in to the target was nothing like the steel curtain we saw over Rome ten days ago, and we sailed through it with just one burst rocking us slightly.

Someone in the 78th wasn’t so lucky; the flak was light enough that the detonation of one of their planes above us could not be missed. “That’s a Liberator gone!” exclaimed Cantalupo.

Brest followed up with, “It’s in pieces, skipper – small pieces. Nobody’s getting out of that alive. Must’ve been a flak hit on the bomb load.” He turned sadly back to his bomb sight as we began our run-in to the target. (Aircraft later identified as “Penny Arcade”)

Brest’s experience is now starting to show: despite another target that was hardly visible, he got us right on it and put our load squarely on the bridge. (Subsequent intel evaluation estimated that 40% of our bombs landed in the target area).

As we turned for home, the AA fire continued, but it was really a token effort on the gunners’ part, and nothing came close.


INBOUND

Zones 5 – 1: The contrast with our previous three or four missions continued on the way home! Nothing bothered us, and the Cannonball was purring like a kitten.

As we pushed out over the Med heading south west, Brest informed us that one of the 78th Squadron’s B-24s was descending. It didn’t seem to be in any visible trouble, so we reckoned that they would make it home. (Aircraft later identified as “Dangerous Critter”) As we lost sight of the Liberator, an aircraft of the 79th also broke formation, descended, and turned on to a more southerly heading. "Must be diverting to Cagliari," mused Rowe. "Hope they make it!"

Brest, with his trusty binoculars in his hand added, "They're pretty shot up around the fin and rudder - plus I'm pretty sure that they have a serious fuel leak from the port side."

Rowe came back on a minute or so later. "If they've only had that leak since the target, and are on the same fuel load as us, they should make it fine." (Aircraft later identified as "Sky Pirate")

For once, we lined up on approach without having to fire any warning flares, and the landing was uneventful. However, we had to use the number 2 runway, as a wrecked bomber was being cleared from the main one. We later found out that Wabbit Twacks had got lost in the cloud, missed assembly, so returned to base. Unfortunately, something went wrong on landing. The aircraft hit the ground hard and the bomb load exploded, killing all on board and destroying the aircraft.


This trip did a lot for crew morale after the deaths and injuries of the last few missions, despite the bad news about the crash on the runway. Everyone was chatting happily at the debrief – which didn’t take long, as there was little to report. We can only hope that this continues.

Our groundcrew were overjoyed at the condition in which we brought their baby back! No battle damage to repair, just refuel and an after-flight check before hitting the bar. The officers in the crew clubbed together to pay the NCOs’ and groundcrew’s bar bill for the night, as they deserve it for the work they’ve put in over the last six weeks.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)

(I was expecting this to be a much tougher mission, but the number of random events that came up was a shock, with none having negative effects on the plane or crew – they will be detailed in the write-up)

The Group’s move to Giulia went without incident, and we found the facilities here a little better than Maison Blanche. Most of the maintenance personnel were left in Tunisia to cover the aircraft replacing us, so we were met on landing by our new Crew Chief, S/Sgt. Anderson Pierce. He seems efficient, recovering the aircraft from a couple of faults encountered on the two training missions we had before the trip to Athens, but we’ll see what happens with the pressure on.

Despite the weather, morale is high. Guys are seeing the move to Italy, perversely, as a move nearer home, even though it is further away physically! I’m sure that there will be more difficult times ahead before we manage that, but we are working well together, and this will help us all make it through.


Zone 1: The European winter weather seems to have set in permanently. We haven’t had a clear day since arriving from North Africa.

There was a little excitement on the 78th’s flight line when one of their aircraft (subsequently identified as "Judgement Day") had a serious engine fire, and didn’t make it off their hardstanding.

However, our take-off was fine, and we found the formation easily in the clear skies above the low-level gunk.

Preferred Risk, a little behind us in the formation, called in that they were aborting due to a #1 engine supercharger failure. Ripa confirmed that they broke formation and descended back towards Giulia.


Zones 2 – 4: Although the mission briefing told us to prepare for opposition from almost straight after take-off, we didn’t see any for quite a while. The only worry we had was a fuel pump failing while we were over the Ionian Sea. Thankfully, Cantalupo resetting the CB and thumping the fuel control panel got it going again. (Rolled 04 for mechanical failure – thankfully, the Cannonball is not a B-24!)

The guys from the spare pool in Elusive Lucy called in that they also had an engine supercharger failure as we approached the southern Italian coast and turned for home. Guess this bad weather, or something else, is affecting these components. Unlucky for them – another chance to put up a mission towards your 25 goes west.

A short while later, Brest called our attention to a Liberator leaving the middle of the 78th's formation above us. The plane began a slow controlled descent and turn on to a reciprocal heading and disappeared back towards Italy. As it dropped past our formation, Brest was able to identify it as Pineapple Princess.


Zone 5: (Rolled 3 waves: first was a ‘none’ result on table 5.3a; second was the mixed bag of aircraft detailed below; third was a random event. I then rolled 52 on Peckham’s alternative events table, which is the same as 9 on the standard 5.3d which allowed one aircraft to be removed from all future enemy waves)

We finally met some enemy opposition as we rolled in over the Greek coastline: a mixed group of an Fw190, an Me109 and two Me210s decided we were their target of the day. One of the 210s was driven off by a fighter from our escort. Brest on the nose gun and Cantalupo in the top turret greeted the Fw190 coming in from 12 o’clock high – one of them got a hit on its port wing, but the pilot was not dissuaded from his mission. Cheers from Cross in the ball turret and King on the port waist gun signalled that they had both managed to deal with the other two attackers. Cross confirmed that all three crew managed to escape.

The remaining Fw190 managed to put a couple of shots into us, but we saw no warning lights illuminate, so assumed no serious damage. The enemy plane was missed by Ripa on the tail guns as it flashed past, but with his supporting wingmen gone, the hit the Fw190 took must have shaken him, as he dove away inland.

After the attack, Lights Out came over the squadron frequency to say that they were having to abort due to oxygen failure. We watched them descend and turn for home, alone. Not the best situation to be in with so much enemy activity about.


Zone 6: We expected more company as we flew closer to the target, but none appeared. It appears our ‘little friends’ are active again, which is fine with us! (Rolled low on 5.2, resulting in no waves.)


Zone 7: (Rolled 1 wave, which came up as 26 on 5.3a – random event, then rolled 2 – no attack.)

Surprisingly, despite the intelligence warnings of heavy fighter cover over Athens, we didn’t encounter any. Others did, and we heard the rookies from our squadron in Dotty Rose abort their run due to severe damage and multiple casualties. King confirmed the bomber breaking formation, and it looked like at least one of our fighter friends would go with them. Cantalupo informed us that one of the 79th's aircraft was dropping out of formation with a serious port wing fire. He followed up shortly after with news that crew had bailed out, but he didn't know how many made it. (Aircraft later identified as "Khaki Wacky")

The flak, however, was brutal for everyone. Once again, the Cannonball managed to avoid it, but there were a couple of very close calls (rolled a 10 and 4), the second of which resulted in Brest’s aim being off more than he would have liked, occurring just before bomb release. (Subsequent reconnaissance estimated 20% of bombs on target.)

Another close call (rolled 4 again) from flak on the way out of the target zone rocked us heavily, but we maintained formation, and appeared to take no damage. Shortly after this, we heard Jambalaya Hot You call in, saying that they were descending due to oxygen and heat systems problems. The squadron adjusted positions to maintain maximum gun coverage, but we were now 4 down from the start of the mission.

(Rolled 66 on 5.3a on the way out of the target zone – random event; rolled 15 – ‘flak battery zeroed in’. This event only applies inbound to target zone, so no effect – flak already resolved)


INBOUND

Zone 6: Once again, the expected opposition did not appear – our fighter cover must have been working overtime today. Brest called out that the lead plane of the 78th was breaking formation and descending. Through his ever-present binoculars, he was able to identify it as Pink Flamingo.


Zone 5: (Rolled 3 waves for this zone – wave 2 detailed below; wave 1 was a 55 (no attackers); wave 3 was 26 – random event. Rolled 51 on Peckham’s table, but as this was the final wave of this zone, the result didn’t apply.)

Two Fw190s, one off our starboard bow and above us, the other high off our starboard side, engaged us after slipping through the fighter cordon. The one ahead of us still had a Lightning on his tail, and chose to veer away from us to dodge the fire coming from it. The other German was solidly hit by Cantalupo, fired ineffectively at us, then carried on past us back towards home.

Other squadrons, for some reason, were getting more attention than us. Arnone called out, “Woah! Look at that!!” He pointed upwards to the 78th, where one of their Liberators was spiralling down, the port wing completely detached from the fuselage. We all watched its demise, some calling for the crew to get out, but we only counted 3 chutes that opened. (Aircraft later identified as "Dumbo")

Detroit Dame, flying just behind us, called out soon after that they were descending due to suit heater problems. We saw a couple of the fighter escort join up with them as they headed downwards, so they should be ok.


Zone 4: A couple more Fw190s shaped to use us for target practice, but our fighter cover dealt with them again, causing them to break off their attack on us and defend themselves.


Zones 3 – 1: The rest of the trip was uneventful, which is hopefully becoming a habit! Not all were as lucky - our lead plane, Great Expectations, called in that all their heating was out, so were descending to maintain a comfortable temperature. Bad luck, as the Italian coast was in sight, but they should make it home ok. Swift Bee moved up to lead us the last few miles home.

We lined up for landing, and completed it without incident. S/Sgt. Pierce commented that he’d seen more damage to our bird from a training run, but was happy that the groundcrew would not be working round the clock to get her operationally ready again.

We all stood around to watch the last couple of planes of our squadron land. Firstly, Killer Frost. They had called in with multiple casualties and failed landing gear. The rest of the crew that were capable bailed out over the airfield, then the aircraft circled round to land. The pilot did a pretty good job, but with no way of braking, the aircraft slid a long way, uncontrolled, across the slick ground, ending up just short of the fuel storage area. Thankfully, all of the crew who bailed out were ok, as were the pilots. Ending up off the runway was probably a bonus, as Detroit Dame approached firing multiple red flares, and no gear down. Chatting to the pilot later, they had almost no control as well as no landing gear, so he did pretty well hitting the runway. Again, there were sparks and grinding noises, but just as the plane slid to a stop, the starboard wing burst into flames. The fire crews were Johnny-on-the-spot, as they always are, and thankfully all the crew got out before the fire consumed the rest of the plane.

We also found out why the airfield was in such a state – Preferred Risk, who aborted just after joining the formation, and Elusive Lucy, who left us due to engine problems early in the mission, both couldn’t jettison their bombs. Landing with them on board is always dangerous, and in the poor weather, a very heavy landing resulted in both crews being killed due to the bomb loads detonating on landing.


Another easy trip with no casualties and virtually no damage to the plane. I know it can’t continue like this forever, but after a few missions where we wondered whether we’d get home again, a couple like this have restored the crew’s good spirits and also helped the new members gel with the originals still remaining. Another morale booster was the first of our replacements, Sgt. King, getting his Air Medal for completing 5 missions. All in all, a good day - let's hope that our lucky streak continues.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
The move to Italy puts a lot of different targets within our range, so with the last trip being east to Greece, this time it’s west to France. After the main group briefing, Capt. Bellevue informed me that the Cannonball will be leading the 80th for this mission, which was a surprise. Looking round the squadron, however, and the number of new faces, I realised that we are quickly becoming one of the most experienced crews available.


Zone 1: After my negative comment about European weather in my last report, the start of this mission dawned crisp and clear, with barely a cloud in the sky!

We started up and took off without any issues. For the first time, we had to establish the squadron formation, so Rowe called out the height, speed, heading and timing to ensure the rest of the guys could form up on us, and also get us into position in the group formation.

It wasn't not long before the group was ready to go, and we turned on to our initial heading to start the trip to Toulon.


Zone 2: Once again, although alert for enemy activity, we weren’t bothered by Goering’s goons, although some others came under attack. This was especially true of the 79th Sqn, in the low position of the formation. They were buzzed by several waves, after which Brest reported that one of their aircraft was descending and heading home. (Aircraft later identified as "Betty's Boys")


Zone 3: As we headed out over the Tyrrhenian Sea, we could see a formation of fighters above us, shaping to attack. Thankfully, so could the fighters covering us, and the Lightning pilots drove them off. As we watched that happen, Beckworth alerted us to one of the 79th's aircraft descending and turning back towards Italy. No mission credit for those guys, but hopefully, they'll get home ok. (Aircraft later identified as "Sand Storm")


Zones 4 – 6: Things settled down again as we headed northwest towards the target. There was some chatter on the intercom about the big party planned for the originals in the crew being awarded their second Air Medal, but I asked the guys to focus after a while, so as not to jinx this trip.


Zone 7: The fighter boys were doing their job well today, as we were not bothered at all by the Luftwaffe on our run-in to the target.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the flak gunners. Arnone and I wrenched the Cannonball level as two thumps in quick succession caused the aircraft to yaw and pitch. Yells over the intercom from Ripa in the tail section pinpointed where the flak had hit.

“Goddamn it! GODDAMN IT!! I’m hit, skipper.”

As we were unlikely to be bothered by fighters this close to the target with flak in the air, I had Beckworth go and check on Ripa. He called in that Ripa was wounded in his left leg and had a graze on his right shoulder. Ripa said that he was ok to continue at his post. I told Beckworth to make sure Ripa’s wounds were dressed, and asked Ripa to let us know if he couldn’t continue.

We got back on to the correct heading for our attack and turned the bomber over to the autopilot and Brest. Maybe the fact that we were lead plane affected him as for the second trip in a row, his aim wasn’t his best. “They’re on target, but not sure how many made it there,” he mused disappointedly over the intercom. (Photo-recce indicated that only 20% of the bombload hit the target.)

The flak gunners really had our number today, as just as we turned for home, another thump indicated we’d been hit, although the effect was less dramatic on the flying controls.

“Goddamn it to hell!!” over the intercom indicated that it was Ripa’s unlucky day. I sent Beckworth aft again, but he came back on very swiftly, saying that Ripa was with them in the waist area, as the tail guns were now wrecked. I told him to help Ripa forward to the radio room, figuring he could share the oxygen connection with Norton for the rest of the trip. It will also make it easier for him to bail out, if it becomes necessary.

As the flak eased, a lone Me110 shaped up to dive down on us, but our fighters, once again, chased him away.


INBOUND

Zone 6: The fighters continued to see off any opposition that might have thought about attacking us. The other squadrons were attacked, and some in our formation also came under fire, but we were not directly attacked ourselves. 

Cross, in the ball turret, informed us that one of our squadron had been shot up bad by several fighters. "They got an engine fire, and those buzzards are still circling them. Doesn't look good." A couple of minutes later Cross added, "They're rolling to port and descending, doesn't look like anyone's in - They're bailing!" With Cross the only one that could see what was going on, we waited nervously for his next words. "Only eight chutes, guys - a couple didn't make it out. Let's hope the Brits down there can get them." (Aircraft later identified as "Dotty Rose")


Zones 5 - 4: The Luftwaffe kept at it, but slackened as we moved further away from their bases. We didn't have any trouble here, and hoped it would stay that way until we got home.


Zone 3: The opposition became thicker again as we got nearer their Italian bases. We weren't targeted, but plenty of others in the group were. Our gunners helped out where they could, but reckoned they didn't register any hits. Our fighter chums were everywhere, but as always, a few always get through. One of the unlucky victims was Olympia, who called in very briefly to let the squadron know that they were bailing out due to an engine oil fire. As we were over Allied-controlled seas, hopefully they'll be picked up.

As we edged closer to home, The Baroness called in to report an engine problem, but they reckoned they could maintain altitude and speed for the short distance left in the mission.

Just when it seemed things were over for this mission, Cross informed us of one of the 79th's aircraft descending out of formation. No other information, but we're not far from home now. (Aircraft later identified as "Wolfman Jack II", which ran out of fuel - crew bailed out)


Zones 2 – 1: The action finally quietened down, but we kept a weather eye out for any bogeys.

The weather over the base was still clear, so we were able to line up and land without a problem, Arnone shooting off a red flare to ensure that an ambulance was waiting for Ripa. An easy landing resulted in cheers from all aboard, and the chatter about the party for the Air Medal awards broke out again.

Norton helped Ripa out of the plane and handed him over to the medics, who drove him off to the base hospital. When we went in to see him later, he told us that the shoulder injury is just a scratch, but the shrapnel also snapped his left Achilles tendon, so he’ll be out of action for a week or so.

We commandeered a jeep and took him back with us to the bar to celebrate his (and all of the original crew’s) second Air Medal, plus his own second Purple Heart, as well as Rowe and Norton’s first Air Medals. The official awards will be in a couple of days, so I told the boys to make sure their best uniforms are up to scratch.


This was a surprisingly quiet trip, mainly due to the efficiency of our fighter escort. Ripa is hurt, but will be back with us for the next mission, so I hope this positive streak continues as we continue to drive the Germans back to their own borders.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action Report (using TFT)
The mission to Rimini came hot on the heels of our previous one, resulting in Sgt. Ripa being unavailable to fill his usual tail gunner position. I requested a replacement from the spare personnel pool, but while Sgt. Mazzini seems a good guy, we won’t be able to fit in any training to integrate him into the crew.

Zone 1: The takeoff run seemed to be normal when #2 engine suddenly and dramatically dropped in power. Arnone and I concentrated on keeping the bird on the runway while Cantalupo worked some magic with the throttle and mixture levers, resulting in the Cannonball returning to normal. There was a combined exhaling of breath once we safely rotated and left the ground. Thankfully, there was no more drama before we joined the rest of the squadron in formation.

Almost as soon as we were over the Adriatic, Brest informed us that one of the 78th's aircraft below us was descending and turning for home. "Looks like their number 3 engine is out," he said, looking through the binoculars he always carries with him. "No mission credit for those guys - I bet they're not happy!" he added. (Aircraft later identified as "Roll n Tuck II")


Zone 2: The short run to the target zone went without incident. The P-47s covering us today sure are ugly birds, but they do pack a punch. We saw several Luftwaffe crates that wouldn’t be returning home due to the P-47 pilots’ accuracy.

“Fire!” exclaimed Arnone, pointing up to the 79th's formation. One of their aircraft clearly had a serious fire on the port wing, and within seconds, chutes were seen as the crew started bailing out. We only saw five, however, before the plane vanished in a huge explosion. “Poor bastards,” Norton said sympathetically. (Aircraft later identified as “Bellona”).


Zone 3: One of Goering’s goons in a Fw190 took an interest in us and tried to position himself astern for an easy shot; however, a P-47 engaged him from above and he had to break off to defend himself.

The flak over the railyards was as bad as last time, and 3 bangs in quick succession signalled that we’d taken some damage. Calls over the intercom from King and Beckworth gave us the location of one hit, but the other two had no immediate effect on the handling of the aircraft.

Beckworth came over the intercom, telling us that King was a “lucky bastard”! It appears that a piece of shrapnel had hit his head, but his helmet had deflected it. All he had was a graze over his right eye that Beckworth dressed. King confirmed that he was fully able to continue – he said that he’d had worse injuries playing baseball!

Brest got us over the target again – he's never missed so far – and put our load on the locomotives and freight cars below. (Subsequent intelligence reports put our effectiveness at 30%)


INBOUND

The flak got us again on the way out, this time putting a hole in the nose plexiglass, but thankfully not injuring Brest or Rowe.

Cross called out that others were getting it worse than we were. He said one of the 78th's Liberators had taken two major hits, and appeared to be going down. A few seconds later, he changed his mind and said that it looked under control, but was descending out of formation. (Aircraft later identified as “Sweet Pea”).

As we turned for home, we hit a pocket of freezing air, but as our guns hadn’t been fired and still had fresh oil on them, none suffered a jam.


Zone 2: Cross called out that a Me110 was coming up directly below us, but two of our P-47 friends made him change his mind.

Beckworth informed us that one of the 79th's aircraft was coming down past us. Brest took a look with his trusty binoculars, and informed us that it was “Angel of De Skies”. No damage visible, so must be a system failure of some sort.

“The Baroness” came over the squadron frequency telling us that they would be dropping out of formation due to suit heating problems. I’m sure that they’ll make it home from here.


Zone 1: The rest of the trip was a breeze, with some joshing of King, asking him if he was truly going to claim a Purple Heart for his ‘shaving cut’! He did sustain the wound in combat, so I will put him up for it, even if he is embarrassed at the presentation.

While minor, his wound did mean that we needed an ambulance to take him away after landing so he could be checked for concussion, but the medics said that they’d be releasing him tomorrow.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
Sgt. Ripa rejoined us after recovering from the Achilles tendon injury sustained in the Toulon mission. Sgt. King also rejoined us with his terrible wound sustained over Rimini visible as a small scar above his right eye! We treated Sgt. Mazzini to a few rounds in the bar as thanks for filling in for Ripa during the last mission. It must be really hard for the guys in the personnel pool, wondering when they’ll get another mission towards their 25. Some of them have been over here since the start of operations in Europe and Africa.

At the briefing, I find out that we are flying tail-end-Charlie for the squadron. Always a bit more nervous in that position, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.


Zone 1: A much longer mission than a few days ago – another trip to the south of France, but unfortunately, not to enjoy the beaches there.

The weather is about as bad as it can get: low cloud, sleet and a high wind. We only got the ‘go’ signal for the mission minutes before the window for it was due to close.

Despite the weather, our take-off goes without incident and we climb above the filth to join the group in blazing sunshine.


Zone 2: This time, the fun starts early, with three Me109s deciding that we need their attention. The fighter escorts were busy – and effective. One of our attackers was driven off, but the Lightnings can’t do anything about the one coming down on us from directly above. His remaining companion positioned himself dead ahead and above us.

Cantalupo and Norton, on the top turret and radio room guns, were unable to put anything into the Jerry in his vertical dive. The pilot obviously also had trouble lining us up, as he missed totally, zoomed past us and broke away at high speed.

Brest, on the nose gun, managed to land some solid hits in the port wing of the one coming in from above us, which must have put the pilot off, as none of the Me109’s shells came anywhere near us. Ripa, back in the tail gunner position, didn’t manage any more hits, but, thinking the better of sticking around on his own, the German pilot banked away, descending quickly towards home.


Zones 3 – 6: The Cannonball purred along nicely, eating up the miles towards the target zone. The boys were pretty relaxed after the easy trip last time, but Cross’s sudden call on the intercom brought reality back to everyone.

“Hey, skipper – my turret’s jammed,” he said, a hint of nerves in his voice.

A ball turret jam – terrible for the aircraft, as there is no other cover for below it; even worse for the gunner, as in an emergency situation, there may be nobody to help him get out.

Cantalupo was on his way back there before I even had to ask him. His conversation with Cross on the intercom was listened to in silence by the rest of us.

After some resetting of CBs and pumps, plus a couple of targeted thumps on the turret itself, Cantalupo summed things up. “Sorry, Chad. The electrical and hydraulic power is totally fubar; you’re down to manual traverse for the rest of the trip. I suppose that’s better than a total jam, but not by much. Skipper, Chad will need a hand to get out of the turret if something happens, and before we land if nothing happens.”

Not the greatest situation, but we still have at least some protection from attacks coming from underneath us.


Zone 7: As the south coast of France grew closer, we became the focus of attention for several Fw190s. The fighter boys drove one away as a couple of them got on his tail, but that still left one coming in from off our starboard side.

Cantalupo and Beckworth greeted the Jerry with some accurate fire, with Cantalupo reckoning he hit the fuel tank as the aircraft disappeared in a ball of flame. There was never any chance of the pilot getting out.

This first pair was quickly followed by a second, both of which managed to evade our little friends’ attentions. We could all hear Cross cursing as he tried to line up the ball turret on the Fw190 ahead and below us, but neither he, nor Brest on the nose gun, managed any hits. The German pilot was more accurate, with a thump from the rear of the plane signalling a hit. The Cannonball also kicked sharply port. Arnone and I both noticed the rudder pedals much harder to move than previously, and the rudder trim had to be set fully starboard to ease the tendency to yaw port. The Fw190 marksman flew close past us as he positioned for another attack, but Ripa reported successful hits on the bogey’s tailplane.

The other German, coming in from the starboard side, took several shells from both Cantalupo and Beckworth. With his aim well off due to this, he missed us, and decided against coming round for another attack.

His more successful companion had almost done a loop around us, coming in for another attack from ahead and above us, rather than below. Cantalupo did more sterling work in discouraging the German, resulting in him missing and breaking off after he passed us. Ripa’s cheers were loud as he didn’t let the bird get away, stitching up the fuselage as the German came into his sights. The aircraft went into a curving dive, with no sign of a chute.

Any threat from the Luftwaffe faded away as we entered the flak zone over the target. The AA fire was thicker than the last mission, but (thankfully) less accurate. We did have one moment of dread when a massive thump caused the plane to bank right, but Arnone and I got her under control again. Cantalupo reported #2 engine running roughly, but managed to get it purring again. After taking a look out of the top turret, he reported that it looked like there was a hit near the engine, as it was missing one of its cowlings. I asked him to keep a close eye on it for the rest of the mission.

Brest has really grown into his role as bombardier. He is much more confident after the missions we have flown, mainly due to the fact that we have always hit the target. He, once again, calmly took control after the IP, calling out the minor adjustments he was making to our approach through the bomb sight controls. His call of “Bombs away!” was our signal to take back control as the aircraft adjusted to the huge weight of our payload leaving it. “That looked like a good drop today,” he added afterwards. You could almost hear his grin! (Photo recce confirmed 40% of bombs on target)

The flak gunners banged away at us as we banked and accelerated away from the target, but no hits were sustained.

Moving back out over the sea, another group of Fw190s picked on us. Once again, our fighters nailed one of them before they got to us, but the other two pressed home their attacks. They were both at the same altitude as us; one off our port side, ahead of us, one directly off our starboard side.

Everyone in the front of the plane could see pieces of the one just to port flying off it as Cantalupo and Rowe gave him a warm welcome. The pilot was obviously having trouble controlling the aircraft, and his tracer went well over the top of us. Shortly after flying beneath us, the aircraft blew up.

Beckworth and Cross were also successful in putting off the aim of the one on the starboard side, resulting in that pilot deciding that getting home in one piece was more desirable, and breaking off for home.

A couple of minutes later, Ripa came on the intercom. “Something weird going on, skipper. We have a twin engine bogey of some sort behind us. Mebbe a Junkers, but he’s too far away… He’s firing something!!”

Cantalupo, in the top turret, both waist gunners, plus Ripa, all reported multiple trails of smoke coming towards us. Some seconds later, there was a succession of explosions around our plane, but only one was close enough to do any damage to us, and it didn’t seem to have done very much. I asked everyone who had seen the attack to try and remember it accurately, as the intel boys would be all over this! The Luftwaffe using rockets against Allied bombers – let’s hope they don’t develop more accurate ones.

(Rolled 21 on 5-3B – rocket attack from aft.)

As we moved out over the sea again, our lead plane - Great Expectations - called in on the squadron frequency that they were descending and diverting to Corsica due to multiple casualties and serious systems damage. I recognised Bowen Hall's voice from back in training - calm and business-like. Just hoped he could get the bird down safely.

INBOUND

Zones 6 – 1: With the intel for this mission reckoning there would be no enemy opposition over the sea on the flight home, I asked Cantalupo to go aft and help Cross out of the ball turret. There’s no sense in him being in there, just in case we have some sort of technical problem before we get home. Also, we’d need to get him out before landing, as if it’s a heavy one and the ball turret isn’t retracted, it could end up being fatal.

The intel was correct, and before long we were descending through the dirty weather on approach for Giulia. While the wind was tricky, Arnone and I made a pretty decent landing.


A slightly more nerve-wracking trip than the previous two, but the crew are really pulling together now, with all of the gunners benefiting from the experience they’ve got in previous missions. I’m hoping that we can continue to use both our skills and Lady Luck to get us through safely. That is 12 missions done now for the plane and most of the crew; after the next one, we’re over halfway home. Nobody likes talking about it though, as we don’t want to jinx our chances!


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)

The missions seem to be coming more often, probably reflecting the continuing push north towards Austria and Germany. This one could be tough – our first trip into the Alps. If we get engine or heating problems on this trip, it could be tough to get back safely.


Zone 1: The weather was a little better than a few days ago, but still not great. However, we managed a smooth take-off, and climbed above the murk to successfully join the group formation.


Zones 2 – 5: Despite the dire warnings from the intel guys, we weren’t bothered by any enemy fighters before reaching the target zone. Pleasantly surprised by this, we were all relaxed, but I kept reminding the guys to watch their quadrants, as the enemy could be on us without warning. Unfortunately, despite this, some of our colleagues failed to have such a quiet time.

Barely fifteen minutes into the flight, Cross interrupted a debate on the relative merits of  American and European women. "Hey - one of the 79th is turning back already. No flames or nuthin', but they're headin' back to base." (Aircraft later identified as "Hat Trick")

Shortly after this, Cross again broadcast to us all. "Another of the 79th heading home - they had some German company for a while there; must've taken some system damage." (Aircraft later identified as "Manitowoc")

About 30 minutes later, Pride of The Lafayette, our lead bird for this mission, called in on the squadron frequency after beating off a group of Fw190s to say that they had to abort due to a total oxygen system failure. Hellzapoppin came on straightaway to say that they would take over.

Mid-way across the Adriatic, Beckworth alerted us to one of our squadron with an engine fire. Obviously a failure of some sort in the engine, as there were no bogeys around at the time. Cantalupo and Brest confirmed it, then Arnone - looking at our formation chart - identified the stricken aircraft as Irascible Girl. "Those guys should abort this far out from the target," he muttered, craning his neck over his left shoulder as the bomber slipped backwards out of our formation. As usual, the remaining aircraft of the squadron repositioned themselves to ensure effective overlapping fields of fire.

This was not going well; we were barely halfway to the target and we were three bombers down.


Zone 6: The trip heated up quickly as we moved into the target area and turned towards the IP. A Fw190 ahead and above us, and two Me110s (one above and behind us, the other diving vertically) pounced on us, with our escorts nowhere to be seen. We could just hear Brest on the nose gun yelling, “It’s jammed!” over the thunder of multiple guns greeting our attackers. Cantalupo made up for the lack of a nose gun, nailing the one ahead of us in the nose and forward fuselage. The Fw190 inverted, and we could see the pilot bailing out.

Norton, on the radio room .50 calibre, reckoned he got something on the one coming down on us from above; he may well have been correct, as that Me110 missed, spiralled past us, then used his high speed to break off to safety.

The remaining Me110 behind us was untouched by Ripa’s hail of bullets, and dealt out some damage of his own. A couple of hits didn’t appear to have done anything, but Brest’s shout of “Skipper! Rowe is down – looks bad!!” signalled the opposite. This was followed by retching and gulping sounds before Brest killed his mic.

I ordered Norton to get to the nose and see what he could do. Meanwhile, the remaining Me110 swooped under us, banking port and coming in again from abeam us on the port side. Cross, in the ball turret, and King on the port waist gun gave him a warm welcome, with both claiming to have hit. The Me110 pilot missed us, turned over and dived for home. Thankfully, we suffered no more attacks as we flew closer to the target.

Norton came on the intercom with his tone giving away the message before he completed it. “Rowe’s gone, guys. He’s been hit in the neck and virtually decapitated – he had no chance.”

“I’ll stay down here and clean up the place a bit – Brest needs to clean the blood off the bombsight so we can make the run.”

Brest confirmed a couple of minutes later that the sight was undamaged, and now clean enough to make the bomb run. We hit the IP shortly afterwards, and I handed the control of the plane over to him and the autopilot.

Norton stopped on his way back to the radio room. “Damn shame,” he grumbled. “I know you guys have your fancier accommodation and mess, but up here, it don’t matter. He was a nice guy – we been chatting about hunting and had a few beers over the last couple of weeks. Just felt I was getting to know him, skipper, and now he’s gone. Seein’ this too much – I just hope I don’t see it too much more.”

I gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “We can jaw about this WHEN we get home, Darian. Let’s just make sure we get there.”

Norton gave a wan smile and moved off back to the radio room.

The flak was less dense than over Southern France, and we managed to avoid it all on the final run-in to the target.

Brest’s usual cheery “Bombs away!” was much more subdued than normal, and he reckoned that it wasn’t his best day’s work. (Later confirmed that only 20% of bombs were on target.)

The flak on the way out of the target area was also inaccurate; this is always the time I worry most. The guys are veterans now, and usually manage to disrupt any enemy aircraft attacks, even if they don’t destroy them. Flak, though, is sneaky – you can’t see it coming, and it is pure luck if you get through unscathed.

Brest, after finishing the bomb run, had returned to work on the jammed nose gun, but eventually told us that he couldn’t unjam it, and we were one gun down for the rest of the trip.

Almost as if the Luftwaffe had heard him, we came under attack from multiple waves of enemies.

(Rolled 3 waves and 0 (0) for the fighter cover; then rolled wave 1 as no attack [41]; wave 2 as 2 x Me210 [45]; wave 3 as random event [16] – rolled 34 on alternative random event table, giving ‘Magellan in The Nose’, but as the Nav was already KIA, it had no effect.)

A pair of Me210s focused on us – one above, ahead, and off to port, the other directly off the port wing and slightly below us. Cantalupo was on the money again in the top turret, sending an accurate burst of fire into the starboard engine of the first one, which exploded, enveloping the rest of the aircraft in a ball of fire. Neither crew got out.

While Cross couldn’t match Cantalupo’s accuracy on the other target, King did enough to put off his aim, and the Jerry pilot decided to head home for some sausage, instead of pushing his luck a second time.


INBOUND

Zone 5: As we cut across Southern Austria, several groups of the enemy took interest in us. Our fighter boys dealt with the first group, but their absence allowed two of the second schwarm to get through. They were Fw190s again, the most modern aircraft in the Luftwaffe inventory. Once again, they split up, one coming in ahead and below us, the other off our port side and slightly above us.

With no nose gun available, it was up to Cross to deal with the one below and ahead of us, which he did, but not enough to put off the German, who smacked a shell into the port wing.

King missed the one off our port side, but Cantalupo managed to do some damage its starboard wing. This caused the German to lose control slightly, causing his own shots to miss, but bringing him dangerously close to us as he turned and dived away, disengaging from us. (Rolled an 11 for potential collision, followed by a 5!)

The one that was ahead of us repositioned himself off our tail, with Ripa failing to hit him as he did so. Despite this area being the easiest in which to hit targets, neither Norton, Cantalupo, nor Ripa managed a successful shot. Thankfully, the hail of bullets must have done enough to worry the Jerry, as he also failed to hit us, then disengaged and headed for home.


Zones 4 – 1: The rest of the trip was quiet, with everyone focusing on their own thoughts after yet another death in the crew.

The weather was still pretty foul when we got back to base. Arnone had the usual task of firing off the red flare to ensure an ambulance was waiting for us at the hardstanding. We nearly didn’t make it, as our landing was right on the edge of a disaster! Thankfully, Arnone and I wrestled with our bird, finally bringing it to an ungainly halt before letting out a deep breath and then taxiing to the hardstanding. (Rolled a 3 for landing, -1 for the weather – close!)

We stood with heads bowed as they took Rowe away. He wasn’t with us for too long, but he had an easy way about him, and he had fitted in really well. He will be missed, and I will try to emphasise this to his parents when I write to them.


Another casualty has everyone thinking about their own mortality now. Those of us who have been with the Cannonball since training are just past the half-way mark for missions now, and this brought home how difficult getting the rest will be.

Our crew-chief, S/Sgt. Pierce, reported that we had been very lucky, even allowing for Rowe not making it back. It appears that at least one shell had hit the bomb bay - if that was before the target, then we are very fortunate that the bombload didn't detonate. Pierce also mentioned that the hit to the port wing had punctured the inboard fuel tank, but it had successfully self-sealed. He reckons that his boys will have the Cannonball ready to go again by tomorrow.

I will request a new navigator from the personnel pool and process Rowe’s Purple Heart paperwork later tonight. For now, I am going to collect the rest of the crew and get them to the bar to allow them to let off some steam.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief status; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

Another very quick turn around between missions, with us heading off far to the east this time. We have hardly had time to say hello to 2Lt. Moore, our new navigator. While older than us, he seems very green to our experienced eyes. Seems quick at the calculations he has to make, so I’m hoping he fits in well


Zone 1: The weather had turned worse since the Marseilles mission, but we eased our bird off the ground and joined the formation without any problems.


Zones 2 – 3: We purred along happily without any attention being paid to us by the few enemy fighters we sighted.

While we were unmolested, others suffered badly. Cantalupo's shout of "Look out, skipper - bank left!" left no room for querying why. As Arnone and I heaved on the control column, then levelled out again, the reason for Cantalupo's warning fell past us. One of the 79th's aircraft had its whole starboard wing on fire. We saw one chute make it out before the bomber vanished in a massive explosion, causing us another wrestling match with the Cannonball. Another reminder to us all that we are one unlucky attack away from the same fate. (Aircraft later identified as "Betty's Boys")


Zone 4: (Rolled 2 waves: 62 – no attack; 64 – 2 x FW190, on in VD; both aces)

As we flew over the Albania/Yugoslavia border, that changed: we were picked on by a couple of Fw190s, both experienced pilots by the way they attacked. One came directly down on us from above, while the other was in front and above us.

Cantalupo and Brest tried to deal with the one ahead of us, but only managed to wing the incoming fighter, who replied by slamming a couple of shells into us, neither of which seemed to have any serious effect on the aircraft.

Norton, on the radio room gun, was less effective against the diver, missing completely. Luckily for us, the Jerry returned the favour, then used his speed to break away to the south.

Ripa attempted to get a shot in on our remaining attacker as he swooped past us and banked to a new position, but his yell of “Goddamit!! Jam, skipper!!” let us know this wasn’t his (or our) lucky day.

Coming in on us from above the starboard beam, Cantalupo and Beckworth opened up on the remaining attacker. Cantalupo’s cursing was drowned out by Beckworth’s whoops of joy. “Yeehaaa! He’s down, guys – got his engine, and the pilot’s bailed already.” (Unbelievably, rolled two 12s in a row!)

Cantalupo’s news wasn’t so good. “Both guns jammed here, skipper – I’ll try to get them working again.”

“Only one gone here,” broke in Ripa. “I’m working on gettin’ it good again.”


Zone 5: The two NCOs’ struggles continued as we flew further into Yugoslavia and made the northerly turn towards our target. Cantalupo said that he would have to keep working on his guns, as neither had freed up; worse news from Ripa in the tail, as he informed us that the jammed gun was solidly seized. I calmly asked Cant to keep trying, while worried that we were three guns down as we approached the most threatening part of the trip.

(Rolled 1 wave: 45 – 1 x Me109 @ 9H)

King called out “We got business, boys – nine o’clock high!” With Cantalupo’s guns still jammed, King was the only gunner who could bring his gun to bear. We all heard his gun burst into action as the 109 closed in, followed by, “Got him!”

However, the hit was obviously not terminal, as the German’s tracer flashed past over the cockpit canopy. Thinking better of getting some more attention from us, the bogey dived away to safety.

It appeared that others had suffered worse than us. Cross, in the ball turret, came on the com: "Hey - that gunship that's leading the 78th is dropping out of the formation. All four engines still going - must be somethin' inside the plane gone screwy."

We made our final turn towards Sofia as we crossed the Bulgarian border, hoping that we had seen the last of problems for today.


Zone 6: There was some good news as we approached the target – Cantalupo managed to free one of his guns and get it reloaded.

More good news – despite being pretty close to the target, we weren’t bothered by any fighters on our run in.

Unfortunately, that was the extent of the good news. As the flak opened up, we had a close burst rock the Cannonball before another caused us to lurch heavily to port. Arnone and I wrestled the bird back level, while Cantalupo, now at his engineer station, informed us that our number 4 engine was running down. Rowe’s call of “Fire! Fire on the starboard wing!!” caused Cantalupo to take a quick look and pull the extinguisher toggle for the dead engine.

Craning his neck, after thirty seconds he said, “If this doesn’t put it out, we’re in trouble,” and pulled the second extinguisher toggle. The mist of extinguishant blanketed the flames and (thankfully) the fire went out.

Rowe stuck his head up from the forward compartment and had a quick chat with Cantalupo before breaking in on the intercom. “We have plenty fuel, skipper, and Cant reckons we can run the remaining engines hot until we hit the target and get rid of the bombs. If we don’t hit any trouble doing that, once the bombs are away, we can throttle back and still stay with the formation.”

I thanked our rookie, and made a mental note about his cool attitude under pressure.

Cantalupo gunned the engines, monitoring temperature and oil consumption closely as Brest took over control with the autopilot and we ran in on the railyards that were our target.

“Tough drop – not sure if we hit the target – tons of cloud down there,” Brest complained. (Later photo-recce intelligence estimated 20% of bombs on target.)

Strangely, there was no flak to add to our woes as we turned for home, and also, no enemy fighters came close enough to engage.

Cantalupo reckoned the engines would be fine, even at their slightly increased rpm, and went back to try to free the second gun in the top turret.


INBOUND

Zone 5: We crossed back into Yugoslavia, and turned towards home. A cheer from the turret above us told us that Cantalupo had fixed the second gun there.

We flew on, with no bogeys on which to test out the repaired guns.


Zone 4: A flight of P-47s made their presence known as we headed across Yugoslavia, and took up position above the group to give us some cover.

Not long after, we were thankful for their presence, as 2 more Fw190s shaped to test us out. The P-47s chased one away, but the other – once again – was in a vertical dive on us. Another no-score tie ensued, as our gunners couldn’t cope with his speed, while the Jerry’s aim was poor. His excess speed meant that he couldn’t make the turn for another attack, so he headed down to the low squadron to bother them.


Zones 3 – 1: The remaining flight time was quiet, despite the briefing’s intelligence reports that warned we could be attacked almost all the way home.

We made it to our home field without any further incidents, and Arnone fired a yellow flare to warn of potentially serious aircraft damage.

In the event, the landing was a little heavy, but not seriously so, and the missing engine didn’t really affect the handling too badly.


A pretty easy run, looking at some of the reports from other aircraft. While we took some serious damage, our crew-chief reckons his boys will have our aircraft ready to go within 24 hours.

A few more pleasant tasks after this flight: I got notification that Sgt. King had passed the assessments for promotion, and was therefore moved up to S/Sgt. Also, Beckworth sweated until the Gunnery Board came back with their answer – he got awarded half a kill for the bird he brought down, which puts him on five kills: our newest ace gunner! I immediately started the paperwork for his DFC. Thirdly, Sgt. King hit ten missions, so was presented with an oak leaf cluster to add to his Air Medal.

A looooong night in the bar ensued, with (for once) no bad news to dampen the mood. Let’s hope this good luck continues.



1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief status; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

A few more days between missions this time; the horrendous weather persisted for a couple of days after our trip to Brenner Pass, but cleared up after that. The buzz around the base was that the next one was big – our first trip into Germany! That proved true at the briefing: a muffled cheer from all concerned, then we were brought back to order and given the nuts and bolts of what was going to happen.

This looks like a toughie, but we are getting fighter cover virtually all the way there and back (of some level or other) which is a great morale boost. The guys are already planning their ‘Oak Leaf Party’ for us originals and Norton, when we get back.

Moore brought them back to reality by showing them the nav chart for the mission. “It’s a helluva long way there and back – anything could happen. You guys have been solid up to now; don’t go jinxing your good run.” Prophetic words, as it turned out…


Zone 1: Unlike the last couple of missions, the day dawned bright, crisp and clear over the base. We got airborne without any worries, and the Adriatic was visible glinting from the sunlight in the distance as soon as we gained a bit of altitude.

We headed due north from Giulia, then turned NNW as we cruised over the sapphire sea below us.


Zone 2: Before we got very far, one of the 79th's aircraft started descending through our formation and turning for home. "Its Aphid," Brest called, his ever-present binoculars glued to his face. "Looks fine - must be heat or oxygen problems."

Jerry was up early today, but so were our little friends. A pair of Me109s swooped in from ahead of us, but one was immediately engaged by our twin-tail heroes in the Lightnings and ended up with his hands full, so ignored us.

The other was a crack flier, as he pulled a manoeuvre that lost his attackers and he ended up coming straight at us from dead ahead, his and our guns hammering wildly, each trying to eliminate the other. Brest on the nose gun, and Cantalupo in the top turret, couldn’t cope with the attacker’s skilful changes of direction – both missed.

Our opponent didn’t, although the thump from somewhere on the port wing didn’t have any noticeable effect on the plane’s handling.

As the Luftwaffe pilot put on an aerobatic display, looping and diving round to our 1:30 position above us, Ripa engaged him with the tail guns, but also to no avail.

Moore engaged the Jerry from the starboard cheek gun, Beckworth on the starboard cheek joined in, and Cantalupo (who had tracked the bogey all the way) opened up again from the top turret. Almost immediately, the noise from upstairs muted slightly, quickly followed by Cantalupo’s call over the intercom, “Jam! Jam!”

Again, the Jerry showed us the way, thumping another couple of shells into us, but it seems that our luck held, as once again, nothing noticeable happened. Ripa, also once again, didn’t manage to hit the 109 as the pilot guided it skilfully round to ahead and below us.

Brest began firing again, joined by Cross in the ball turret. Both called “Hit!” at the same time. Cross quickly added, “He’s still coming, skipper!”

Our gunners finally getting the range must have put the German off, as he missed us – then the bogey swooped up past the nose at the last second, narrowly missing us, before inverting his aircraft and diving away to safety. Ripa, unfortunately, didn’t manage to give him a leaving present.

A damage check showed that the worst thing that had happened was that our rubber rafts were shredded. Not the greatest news, considering how much water we have to fly over, but it could have been a lot worse.


Zones 3 – 4: For the rest of the trip up the Adriatic, we kept a vigilant watch, but nothing came close enough to bother us. This was punctuated with the occasional cuss word from Cantalupo as he struggled to unjam one of the upper turret’s 50 cals. His cheer just as we reached the northern Italian coast signalled that he’d been successful.

After an attack on the squadron above us, one aircraft ended up with an engine out, and immediately headed for home. A wise move, with the Alps still to be negotiated. (Aircraft later identified as "Roundtrip Jack")


Zone 5: As we moved northward, we attracted a lot of attention, being the low squadron today in the group formation. Thankfully, our twin-tailed companions were on form, as they chased off two small swarms of Me109s that shaped to attack us.

A third group of three Me110s were luckier, only two getting chased off, with the third coming in directly below us. The ball turret’s twin guns rattled the plane as Cross opened fire, shortly afterwards joined by his joyous “Wohooo! Looks like his starboard engine blew up, guys – the whole bird’s on fire. Nobody’s gettin’ out of that!”


Zone 6: Things were going well, considering the number of bogeys attacking the group. The hot action continued as we headed up into the Alps, close to last week’s target – Brenner Pass.

At this distance, our fighters were a bit rarer, and three Fw190s took their chance to heat our day up a bit more. One shaped to attack from ahead and below us, with the other two off our port beam, both at a higher altitude and diving in.

The Cannonball rattled and shook as multiple gun positions opened up. Brest and Cross gave the one ahead and below a warm welcome. Brest cursed as he missed, but Cross countered that with a cheer from the ball turret. “Got ‘im! His prop’s jammed or sumthin’ – he’s diving away and bailing out.”

More cheers from the top turret and port waist as Cantalupo’s twin guns cut off the 190’s tail section, sending it spinning out of control and making the pilot scramble clear as control was lost.

Unfortunately, the thunder got even louder as the remaining attacker put multiple shells into us – the worst attack we’ve ever suffered. Curses and shouts from the nose and waist positions had me fearing the worst, but the flickering flames around my feet were more of a worry. “Fire! Fire in the cockpit!” Arnone yelled.

Also needing urgent attention was the fact that I was struggling to breathe. Looking at Arnone, his chest was heaving as deeply as mine. The oxygen system had obviously been badly hit, and the concentrated O2 atmosphere causing something to catch fire.

Norton was there in seconds with an extinguisher, and quickly brought the blaze under control. I tapped his shoulder and pointed at my mask. He looked at both me and Arnone, noted how badly we were struggling to breathe, and returned less than a minute later with walk-round bottles that he plugged us in to.

The battle with the remaining 190 continued, with King calling out a hit as the bogey returned low on our port quarter. The hit obviously wasn’t a fatal one, as our bird rang like a drum as more solid hits were taken.

“Nose gun’s gone, skipper,” called Brest, “It’s just scrap metal now.”

The bogey banked away below us, but as he moved into Ripa’s field of fire, the tail gunner came good, stitching rounds across the Jerry’s starboard wing, causing it to detach. The pilot leapt clear as the aircraft began to tumble earthwards. “Finally!” he called. “Hopefully, this is a start of a better streak.”

I restored order as calmly as I could, and took a roll-call, fearing the worst after such a concentrated attack.

A quick check around the plane found that nobody had been injured, but Moore reported that the navigation equipment had been destroyed, and that Brest’s bombsight was in multiple pieces all across the nose area.

With the bandits dealt with, the main focus now was to get the plane to a lower level before we ran out of oxygen. While manoeuvring to get down to 10000 feet and turning southwest, I told Norton to radio the squadron for a replacement lead. With an oxygen failure, there is no way we could get enough altitude to make it through the Alps, and even if we did, the lack of a bombsight would make it a waste of time anyway.

“80th Squadron, alert – new lead aircraft required. Cheyenne Cannonball is aborting due to oxygen failure and multiple other systems damage.”

There was the usual scattering of “Good luck guys” calls over the squadron frequency, before the discussion over who would take lead now took place.

As we descended, the guys checked around the plane for damage. It seems our luck had held to a high degree. Other than the O2 fire and the nose compartment equipment damage, it seems that we got off lightly.

That was until Cantalupo appeared, his face as pale as the snow below us. “Skipper, we took at least one hit on a bomb – damned lucky we aren’t spread all over the sky by now.”

I kept this from the rest of the crew until after we landed, as my stomach clenched with the thought of what could have happened. I immediately ordered Brest to open the bomb bay doors and dump the load.

We levelled off at just under 10000’, with the weather still very clear. That wasn’t so good for us, as we would attract fighters and flak at this low level.

Moore came over the com with his calm tenor tones. “Skipper, even with the nav equipment shot up, I have our approximate position from landmarks. I’ll keep checking, but if we stay roughly on this course, we should make it to the new emergency landing field on Corsica. We can check our position more accurately when we hit the coast.”

I could almost feel the tension draining out of the crew. Moore’s steady summation of our situation, and his figuring a way out of it, had gone a long way to calm everyone’s fears. He may be the rookie in the plane, but we owe him for this one.


INBOUND

Zone 5: (At 10000’, I had to roll twice for Luftwaffe waves, as well as three rolls on the light flak table:
               Flak – 1 hit
               First opposition roll: 3 waves
              Second opposition roll: 2 waves)

Cruising across northern Italy at this height certainly attracted attention. First was a flak battery that managed to put a shell close to us. Thankfully, the only damage was another hole in the nose area from a bit of shrapnel.

Shortly afterwards, several groups of fighters zeroed in on us. Our own fighter friends dealt with two of the waves, but the third was another of those rocket attacks from our rear. I guess a single B-17 is a harder target than a squadron, so the rockets came nowhere near us.

As we approached the coast, Moore gave us another minor course correction, just as two waves homed in our lonely form.

Three Fw190s looked at us as easy pickings, but our little friends didn’t let us down, taking out two of them, with Cantalupo cheering again as he severed the tail of the third, who had attacked from ahead and above.

Next were a couple of Me109s, with the fighters chasing one away, leaving only one to bother us from below and ahead. Cross gave him as warm a welcome as Cantalupo had done to his companion, damaging the plane. The bandit did manage to put a couple of hits into us, but someone was watching over us on this trip as, once again, nothing serious resulted.

Having been damaged, (FBOA) the German decided to head home, rather than press his luck.

The Mediterranean spread below us, looking as inviting as the Adriatic had, hours earlier. The huge island of Corsica was easy to spot, and Moore guided us unerringly to the airfield at Ghisonaccia. We contacted ground control to warn them that we were on the way in, then orbited the airfield, signalling aircraft seriously damaged with a yellow flare. We soon got a green one in reply and made a textbook approach and landing.

The unfamiliar sight of our four engine bird amongst all the twin-engine ones attracted a lot of attention. We were greeted by a friendly gang of Mitchell fliers, and we all swapped stories until the intel officer turned up to take us away for debriefing.

After that finished, we were told that they would signal Giulia and let them know we had got down safely.

Just as we finished the intel debrief, a knock at the door revealed a Sergeant: "Sir," he said to the lieutenant who had been debriefing us, "There's another Fortress on the way in with damage and casualties. Should I send a team to meet it?"

His officer replied, "No need," then turned to us. "Fancy a ride back to the dispersal?" he asked with a grin.

We were soon back at the field, and saw the unmistakeable outline of a B-17 shortly afterwards. Red and yellow flares appeared from the aircraft, with an immediate green reply from the ground. The plane landed very smoothly, and as it taxied in, Brest (who, as usual, had his binoculars with him) called out, "It's the Flamingo!"

Sure enough, the incongruous nose art of a flamingo, with "Pink Flamingo" emblazoned beneath it was soon visible to all as it came to a stop close to us.

The crew started helping out their injured members, but all were conscious, with only one not able to walk. I saw Ben Crockett, with his shiny new Captain's bars, and Alex Drake exit from the forward area, and moved in to shake their hands. Both looked surprised to see Arnone and I, but quickly smiled in greeting. "Nice to see a familiar face," Crockett said.

"Likewise!" I replied. "How come you ended up here?" There followed a swapping of stories about the mission from each of our perspectives. Ben excused himself to check on his wounded crew, but returned in good spirits, as none were badly hurt. The intel officer suggested we all head to the HQ area to complete the formalities, then they would get everyone sorted with accommodation.


The tech boys, having looked over our bird, said that almost all the damage that we hadn’t seen already was minor, apart from a starboard wing root hit. They said that they could have us ready to go in a couple of days. The Flamingo had suffered a similar amount of damage, so we planned a route home together and sent it off to 15th AF HQ for approval and escort assignment.

We spent a pleasant 48 hours with the mud movers, getting a couple of trips up in Mitchells on training and check flights. Arnone and I got some time in the co-pilot's seat. These birds are way more manoeuvrable than the Fortress, but I like the solid feel of our own bird compared to the Mitchell.

When the Cannonball was patched up, we said our goodbyes, took off with Pink Flamingo, met our escort and headed for home without further incident.

Captain Bellevue met us on landing, insisting on a full debriefing. However, once that was done, he passed on a lot of good news: due to the abort being because of enemy action, the trip counts towards our tour total. Due to that, all of the original crew remaining (apart from Ripa, who missed a mission while wounded) are to receive their second Oak Leaf Cluster for their Air Medal, with T/Sgt Norton receiving his first. The good news didn’t stop there, as Beckworth and Cross got confirmation of their promotions to S/Sgt.

A wild night in the bar, to celebrate all of the above, as well as our unlikely survival. This was by far the closest we have come to disaster. The number of hits we took did surprisingly little damage, but the thought of what that one shell could have done if the bombs had exploded keeps waking me up at night.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief status; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

A decent break over Christmas for all of us on both sides. The Christmas period itself was kept clear to avoid bad news going home at this time of year, but the weather turned nasty, so we were hanging around waiting for nearly two weeks after the big day. We weren’t even able to fly more than a couple of training missions!

The short hop to Skopje looks like a much easier mission, but appearances can be deceptive…

Zones 1 – 3: Despite the intel predicting probable opposition all the way there and back, we weren’t bothered by the Luftwaffe until we closed in on the Albanian coast. An Me110 looked interested for a couple of minutes, but in that time, two Lightnings gave him more attention than he could cope with and he broke away with them on his tail.


Zone 4: Turning NE as we crossed into Yugoslavia, a more serious threat appeared in the form of four FW190s. Our escort dealt with one of them, but the others swarmed over us, coming in from three different directions which split our defensive fire badly.

Cantalupo could not connect with the bogey coming in from 1030 high; likewise, Beckworth drew a blank on the one at our altitude on the starboard side. However, Cross was on target with the FW at three o’clock low, but wasn’t able to deal a terminal blow.

The pilot coming in from above our port bow missed us, but his colleagues attacking from different altitudes off our starboard side both hit solidly. There was a brief shout from the front compartment, and a hole, plus a large crack, appeared in the windscreen in front of me. Thankfully, it held in the frame, and didn’t affect visibility too badly.

“I’m hit skipper,” Moore stated calmly over the intercom. “My neck is bleeding, but no more than a shaving cut – I’ll be fine to continue, I’ll just slap a dressing on it to get it to stop.” Moore is one cool customer, considering this is just his third mission. I told him to let us know if the bleeding didn’t stop, or got worse.

“That’s another one heading home!” Ripa interjected from the tail. “Got a hit on him, guys – looks like he’s had enough for today, even if he isn’t going down.”

The last 190 dodged the fire from King in the port waist position and Cross in the ball turret to make another pass at us from below on our port side.

There was another tattoo beaten out on our aircraft as the Jerry slammed several shells into us. Arnone and I struggled to keep the bird steady, as either a control surface, or a couple of control cables, took a hit. There were a couple of very loud bangs from behind us, then the intercom was filled with a strange gasping and gurgling sound – from whom, I couldn’t make out.

I carried out a personnel check as Brest confirmed that the last bogey had disengaged, and only Norton didn’t answer – but the terrible wet gasps for breath continued. I ordered Moore to head back to the radio room and see what was going on.

He squeezed past us and a short while later, the horrific sounds ceased over the com as it was switched off. Moore came on shortly afterwards. “Guys, Darian is gone. His chest is a mess – looks like he took a direct hit. The oxygen system is out here too; I’ve closed the isolation valve, so hopefully we won’t get a fire. I’ll lay Darian out ready for the medics to take him away, then head back down the front.”

For the first time since he joined us, we heard the catch of emotion in Moore’s voice.

We pushed on with the squadron through some very light, ineffective flak, and soon Brest was lining us up with the airfield and rail yard that was our target. “Can’t see it too well, but better than before Christmas!” he called. (Photo-recce estimated 30% of bombs on target)

Surprisingly, there was no flak at all on the egress from the target; even more surprising, the Luftwaffe didn’t turn up either!


INBOUND

Zones 3 – 1: And that was it – we didn’t see another enemy aircraft for the whole of the trip home. A quiet one, with the respected T/Sgt Norton no longer part of the crew. While not with us for too long, he was older and had more life experience than anyone in the crew bar Ripa. He had been a steadying influence on the younger members – both officers and NCOs, and I will miss his occasional word about one member or another having a bad day, or getting a letter that from home that had something concerning in it.

The weather at base wasn’t any better, but we landed safely, then paid our respects to Darian as the medics’ wagon took him away. He wasn’t married, but was engaged, so I will have to check with Personnel to see if they have an address for Matilda. An old-fashioned name, but it always brought a smile to Norton’s face when he mentioned her.


S/Sgt. Pierce reckons the Cannonball will be ready to go again by tomorrow afternoon, as there is little serious damage to the aircraft.

We all admired Moore’s “shaving cut”, as the medics examined it, slapped some iodine on it, and applied a new dressing. “You’ll be fine, sir,” stated the Corporal medic, “Nice way to earn a Purple Heart!”

I will have to start paperwork to ensure Norton gets one too, and Ripa has now caught up with the rest of us originals, adding a second oak-leaf cluster to his Air Medal. Furthermore, the day after the mission, his promotion to S/Sgt was confirmed.

We spent a quiet night in the bar, with Norton’s influence on the crew clear for all to see: several stories came out about problems guys experienced which he had handled without me even knowing about them. We will miss him more than we first realised, I think, but I still need to get a replacement sorted for that empty seat in the plane.



1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action Report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief status; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

After our long break over the festive season, the missions have begun coming a bit closer together. The briefing for this one is a mixed bag: not too far to travel, but we’re going to be in range of the Luftwaffe the whole way there and back. I hope our boys are feeling accurate today – lucky would be even better!

Zones 1 – 4: A nice easy take-off was followed by a comfortable cruise towards northern Italy. Once again, despite the dire warnings of the intel boys, we didn’t see a single enemy on the way to the target area.
(Rolled nothing for Zones 3 & 4; Zone 2 had 3 waves – 61 and 66 resulted in no attacks; the other roll was 26 – random event/no attack, which resulted in 46: Flak off the mark (flak reduced one level in target zone.)

As we headed out over the coast, one of the 78th's Liberators was seen descending. Brest confirmed that their #1 engine was not operating through his ever-present binoculars. Probably a good decision to abort this far from the target. (Aircraft later confirmed as "Trade School")

Zone 5: We made a sharp turn eastwards towards Pisa in the hope of throwing off the attacking fighters, but to no avail.

Four FW190s decided we were too tempting, and manoeuvred around us to maximise their advantage. However, a couple of P-47s engaged one of them, causing the Jerry to go defensive and leave us alone.

There were two ahead of us: one level with us, one above us. Brest’s accurate burst from the nose gun did something terminal to the lower bogey’s port wing, which separated from the aircraft. Immediately afterwards, the pilot could be seen jumping clear.

Cantalupo was not quite as effective as the bombardier, managing to hit the one at 12 high, but not destroying it.

The two remaining enemy aircraft pressed their attacks, but nothing hit us. Ripa tried to give the one originally at 12 high a parting gift, but failed to connect as the 190 dove away home.

Beckworth had failed to hit the one high off our starboard beam, and the Jerry pulled a high-g port turn to position himself behind and below us.

Cross and Ripa lined him up well, both connecting, with the ball gunner’s twin guns virtually severing the Jerry’s tail section. The high spin rate of the remainder of the aircraft must have prevented the pilot escaping, as no chute was seen.

As we flew closer to the target area, we were amazed to see a stick of bombs fall past us! Calling over the radio, it turned out to be a Luftwaffe bomber way above the group having a go at getting lucky with a bomb hit. Thankfully, they all missed us, and the rest of the formation.

The flak wasn’t the heaviest that we’d ever flown through, but it was the most accurate. The plane rattled like a tin of nails as we quickly took multiple hits. A couple of holes appeared in the compartment surrounding us, but nothing of note seemed to be damaged – until we heard Cross, in the ball turret, say, “Turret’s jammed, guys – I can’t move it, or the guns!” Cross was usually fine in his cramped station, but everyone knows that if the turret is totally jammed, it becomes a death trap if we have to abandon the aircraft, or if Arnone and I land it heavily.

Arnone and I were finding our bird slow to respond to roll input – I asked the waist gunners to have a look at our ailerons, and King reported that the port one was barely moving. If the other one gets hit, landing the Cannonball will be a challenge.

Cross’s pleas, and the crew’s responses, were cut off as the intercom failed. After five minutes, Dandridge appeared from the radio room and yelled in my ear that he couldn’t get the system working again – the main power supply had gone, as well as some wiring. I got him to get Moore up from the nose and sent Dandridge back to his station.

Arnone thumped my arm and pointed upwards - one of the 78th's B-24s tumbled slowly out of the sky, the port wing completely separated. It didn't look like the whole crew got out. (Aircraft later identified as "Dangerous Critter")

I then asked Moore to give Arnone and I a thumbs up when Brest signalled to him that the autopilot was engaged with the bombsight.

Any earlier in the mission, this would have meant aborting, but as we were on the final run-in to the target, I made the decision to press on with the attack.

The lack of intercom didn’t appear to affect Brest, as he appeared with a big grin shortly after we felt the bombs leave the aircraft. (Intel later confirming 60% of our bombload on target.)

As we turned away for home, the flak was unusually quiet – as was the aerial opposition. We saw one FW190 shape to attack us, but a couple of our accompanying Jugs saw him off.

In the lull, I attracted Cantalupo’s attention and got him and Dandridge to try and free Cross from the ball turret. They returned after about 15 minutes with rueful expressions. They couldn’t free up the turret, so couldn’t line up the escape hatch with the hole in the fuselage structure.

I fervently hoped that we could get through this without killing Chad, one way or another.

As we turned away towards home, the lead plane of the 79th, above us, could be seen descending to lower altitude. With no sign of serious external damage, it must have been a systems failure. (Aircraft later identified as "Kit 'n' Kaboodle")


INBOUND

Zone 4: The Luftwaffe picked up the gauntlet again as we headed for home, with one of a pair of 190s being shot down by our escort, while the other dived on us from the port side. King and Cantalupo engaged it accurately, with King continuing to fire as the bogey moved out of the top turret’s arc of fire. I think we heard his cheer even without the intercom, as a ball of fire lit us up from underneath the port wing as the 190 exploded.

As we moved out over the Med again, Phabulous Phyllis dropped through our formation; all four engines were still turning, so probably a heat or oxygen problem.


Zones 3 – 2: The final action of the day happened close to home. Thankfully, both bogeys that decided to attack us came from above, with Cross’s turret still out of action and him stuck in it.

One attacker came straight down on us, and was engaged by Dandridge on the radio room gun, but this is the most difficult shot in the plane, and the 190’s speed meant that his bursts failed to connect. Fortunately, the speed works in our favour too, as the Jerry couldn’t connect with us either.

The one ahead and above us was a far better shot: his shells thumped into us, and with the intercom out, I expected the worst. Cantalupo, however, yelled loudly enough for those in the cockpit to hear, before he started cursing.

We saw the shattered wreck of the 190 spiral away groundwards, with no sign of a chute.

Cantalupo appeared beside Arnone, who passed on to me the news that Cant was OK – just a few scratches – but the twin gun mount had taken a direct hit, and his guns were now useless.

This was bad – two of our three twin-gun mounts were now unavailable for defence. If we met any more opposition, we could be in trouble.

Another of the 79th's Fortresses was seen breaking formation and descending, again seeming to have no serious external damage. Must be an active day for the gremlins! (Aircraft later identified as "Kayo")


Zone 1: Thankfully, that didn’t happen. We joined the queue waiting to land, firing off a yellow flare to signal the ground that we had major systems damage. Arnone and I held our breath as we selected the gear down, and let it out when we got the gear down confirmation indicator.

The weather was still clear, so we had no trouble making a nice smooth landing. Once we’d taxied in and shut down, I got S/Sgt Pierce to get his guys to free Cross from the ball turret.

Once Chad had straightened himself out and stamped his feet a bit, he seemed none the worse for the experience.


Examining the Cannonball, we saw multiple hits, with Pierce pointing out a particularly nasty one on the main spar of the port tailplane. The rest aren’t too bad, and he reckons his grease monkeys will have our plane ready to go in about a day or so. I am continually in awe of the damage these birds can absorb and then get up in the air again so soon.

With so much damage in all areas of the plane, it is a minor miracle that nothing connected with the flesh of any crew member. We celebrated another mission ticked off in the search for 25 in the bar, returning to our billets early in the morning. The worry for the original members of the crew is now palpable: we are getting close, and everyone has their own little routines that they go through to help keep us safe. Mine is remembering the full name of everyone that has crewed with us, alive or dead. Perhaps keeping them in mind will help the powers above us keep us in mind as we fly the next eight missions.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

There were a few glum faces after the briefing for this mission, as it is a long one with potential enemy threat over almost the whole route. The Limeys have some aircraft on Corsica now to back up our own little friends, but this is going to be a tough run.


Zones 1 – 7: The Cannonball seemed to take an age to get into the air, but maybe I was the only one that thought so, as Arnone and Cantalupo were their usual quiet professional selves.

(Zone 2, rolled 41 – no attack; Zone 3, rolled 36 for a random event, followed by a 3 – no attack; Zones 4 – 6, no Luftwaffe threat)

Shortly after heading west over the Med, we saw below us one of the 78th’s Liberators turn for home. The 78th had just been in a major fight against maybe a squadron of FW190s, so it probably had some serious battle damage. (Aircraft later identified as “Trade School”)

A very quiet transit ensued almost all the way to the target. Our route along the south coast of France, however, drew some attention. It had been remarked on by the crew that we hadn’t seen many of our escort, but they came good as we began to fend off the Luftwaffe: Three FW190s came in on us, and split up to divide our defensive fire, but two Mustangs engaged one of the pair ahead and above us, and drove it off. One continued to dive on us from 12 o’clock high, while the other inverted and came in on a diving turn from above the starboard side.

Brest opened up on the one ahead of us, making contact and disrupting its aim, resulting in the Jerry missing us; Beckworth and Cantalupo both struck at the one off our starboard beam successfully, also putting that pilot off enough to have him miss as well. Thinking better of coming around for a second pass, both aircraft disengaged. Unfortunately, Ripa was unable to give the one zooming past from ahead of us a parting gift as the 190 came into his arc of fire.


Zone 8: Things really heated up as we turned north on approach to the target – or they would have if the Luftwaffe hadn’t sent the large tempting targets of Me210s against us.

(Weirdly, after rolling two waves for this sector, both rolls for their content came up as 45 – 2 x Me210. Happy days!)

The first pair of the heavy twin-engined fighters attempted to engage from 12 o’clock high and level with us on the port beam. With us now being out of range of our escort cover, they were probably licking their lips – until, unfortunately for them, our experienced gunners opened fire.

While the tracer from Brest’s bursts on the nose gun we could see went wide, Cantalupo smashed two solid lines of .50 calibre destruction into the one ahead and above us. His accurate fire cause the starboard wing to separate outside of the engine nacelle, with the aircraft immediately becoming uncontrollable. Both aircrew scrambled clear as the remains of the plane inverted and span away from us.

Cheerful yells over the intercom told us all that Cross and Beckworth had also dealt successfully with the second attacker.

There was just enough time to reload before the second pair were on us, this time coming in on us from below our starboard bow, and high off our port beam. The yells this time were mixed: Moore used the right cheek gun effectively against the one below us on the starboard side, without inflicting fatal damage, but Cross began calling, “Jam! Jam!” shortly after opening fire.

Meanwhile, Cantalupo and King both called out hits on the other attacker, with the 210’s port wing being holed in multiple places, and the aircraft rolling rapidly that way before heading downwards. Cross confirmed both crew managed to escape.

The one remaining attacker put a burst squarely into us which resulted in screams from Arnone, next to me, and him clutching at his right leg. I switched off his mic as I tried to see what had happened while controlling the plane; the successful attacker swooped around to our six o’clock position for another attack.

With no other bogeys visible, I called Dandridge up from the radio room to deal with Arnone, who had fallen unconscious and slumped in his seat. Dandridge efficiently got him out of the seat and took him to the radio room. As we were now on the run-in to the target, I decided to hold off on getting one of the other crew as co-pilot, as they all had key jobs at this point. Also, keeping our bird straight and level was my main task until Brest engaged the autopilot on the final run-in, so there wasn’t much force needed for that.

Ripa missed the final 210 as he repositioned himself in our six, but once there, the tail gunner made solid contact, turning the plane’s rudder into Swiss cheese and causing the pilot to wildly miss his attempted shots on us. The Jerry pushed his attack too close for comfort, changing direction at the final second and just missing our fin as he banked and dove away home.

Dandridge reported that Arnone had a huge hole in his right thigh that he’d plugged with dressings, but it appeared that the femoral artery hadn't been ruptured, which was probably the only good news. Dandridge said that he’d given Arnone a morphine shot and made him comfortable.

The radio operator’s report was interrupted by the beginning of the flak barrage and Brest’s engagement of the autopilot as we began our bomb run. A minute or so later, there was a huge bang just to the rear of the cockpit. Dandridge appeared, white-faced, a few seconds later and gave a shaky thumbs-up. “Damn it, skipper – the radio’s gone – shrapnel right through it. Lucky I was down on the floor looking after Dandridge, or you’d need another nurse!" Dandridge gave a wan smile as he moved started to move back. I stopped him, and had him hop in as co-pilot, telling him that he should go back and check on Arnone every 10 minutes or so, but his help with flying the plane would be much appreciated. There was little point in keeping him in the radio room with a completely broken radio. He was grinning from ear to ear as he strapped himself in next to me.

The flak didn’t put Brest off too much, as later reconnaissance put at least 50% of our bombload on target.

We were rocked by a flak burst close under our port wing as we exited the target area, but it didn't appear to damage anything on the plane.

Soon after, the Luftwaffe made itself known to us again, in the form of four FW190s; one came in ahead of us, one behind, and the other two at different levels off our port side. The ones front and rear were not bothered by our defensive fire, as almost all guns in the plane opened up, but the two to port both took major hits – unfortunately, not major enough to stop their own attacks. However, those bogeys both missed with their attacks on us, and both broke for home (FBOA result on both 190s), with the one coming up from a lower altitude nearly clipping our port wing as he turned and dived away.

The other two, despite being missed by our gunners, also missed their own shots and repositioned themselves: both attackers banking round to our starboard side, one attacking from above us, one from below.

Cross and Beckworth both dealt severely with the one below us, but the Jerry pushed his attack close. However, even at close range, he couldn’t connect, so thinking better of chancing his luck again, he headed for home.

Cantalupo’s cheers rang out loud, as he nailed the other attacker before it could bring its guns to bear. A spectacular ball of fire off our starboard side signalled that our engineer had probably hit a fuel tank. No chute was seen escaping from the stricken plane.


INBOUND

Zones 7 – 1: As the crew went through their post-engagement checks while keeping a lookout for more trouble, Cross reported the good news that he had managed to unjam the problem gun in the ball turret.

As we crossed over Corsica, our #3 engine started spluttering and coughing. Cantalupo struggled with fuel mixture and throttle controls, but within seconds there was a loud bang, followed immediately by the fire indicator light for that engine illuminating - at the same time as Beckworth’s shouts of “Fire! Fire on the starboard wing!!” could be heard over the com.

Cantalupo closed off the throttle and mixture controls immediately, feathered the propeller, then pulled the extinguisher toggle. Everyone who could see the flaming engine held their breath, then exhaled in unison as the flames disappeared in a cloud of extinguishant.

While not ideal, the Fortress isn’t too bad on three engines, and with the bomb load gone, we were easily able to stay in formation.

As we settled down again after this excitement, we saw our lead aircraft, Hellzapoppin’, break formation and circle down towards Corsica. With no radio, it’s hard to know the reason for the emergency diversion.

The final attack of the day came as we flew south-east, parallel to the Italian coast, not far from home. Two Me110s manoeuvred to get a shot on us, but one ended up food for the Mustangs, while the other got in such a tangle that he ended up climbing to attack from directly below us. Cross licked his lips at this juicy target and slammed a stream of lead into the bogey’s starboard wing, resulting in the engine in that wing blowing up, and the flames from the subsequent fire enveloping the cockpit – nobody escaped.

We were soon at our base after that, happy to see that the clear winter weather had held for our return. Dandridge signalled the ground for an ambulance with a red flare, and then a green flare in response gave us our cue to land. Dandridge did well operating the flaps and undercarriage for me as I concentrated on getting the Cannonball down without further damage. Our landing was pretty smooth, and there was an ambulance with a bunch of medics waiting for us after we taxied in.


Myself, Brest and Beckworth – three of the original crew – lifted Arnone out of the plane and into the arms of the medics. Harmon was barely conscious, but managed a wan smile as he whispered, “Hey, Skip – mebbe I can make a go of my acting career now.” With all the months of training and active duty, I’d forgotten about him being regularly on the stage in NY in the smaller theatres there before he signed up. His serious professional manner in the aircraft was not what you would expect of a man with such a background, but his impressions of Col. Moody, Maj. Bronson, and others in the bar always made for laughs – even from those on whom he picked!

Dandridge was openly upset at his first sight of a seriously injured comrade, and I had a lump in my throat myself as we said our farewells to Harmon. Sometimes, being leader while also being the youngest in the crew is a real burden.

However, it could have been worse: Harmon could easily be dead, but he is alive, and may yet fly again. Also, Dandridge was a little happier when reminded that this was his fifth mission, so would be on parade later this week to receive his Air Medal.

The plane is in pretty good shape, with very little damage. I have to say that this is mainly because of our gunners, who showed great marksmanship today. Unfortunately, they did not receive the rewards from the gunnery board that their skill merited.

While sad to see another of the ‘originals’ removed from the crew, at least we are not mourning another death, and the replacements we have had previously have fitted in really well. I am hoping that 2Lt. Glen Ridley, whom I have requested fill Arnone’s co-pilot seat while he recovers, will be another successful pick.


Addendum 01/28/44: After visiting Arnone en masse the next day, we found him sitting up in bed entertaining the nurses with impressions of the various doctors, his right leg plastered from shin to hip. It appears that, along with the muscle/flesh damage, his right femur was broken in two places. He is being shipped home to get specialist treatment to allow a full recovery. However, this is likely to take months, rather than weeks, so 2Lt. Ridley will be a permanent replacement, rather than temporary.

We all turned up to see him off on the casevac aircraft on the first leg of his homeward journey, which he really appreciated. He will be missed, but at least we can keep in touch with him.



1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

A shorter trip planned for this mission, but also a shorter break between missions. We managed to get a couple of training flights in with my new co-pilot. Ridley seems very competent, but Arnone and I had got to the point of anticipating each other’s moves – hopefully, with time, that will happen again with Glen. He is thrilled to be in a plane named after his home state’s capital, although puzzled about the connection. I explained to him that a War Bonds drive in and around Cheyenne raised the money for the plane to be built and local schools competed to name it.


Zones 1 – 4: Complete quiet in the transit to Maribor, despite the dire warnings of the intel boys.

Things weren't so quiet for the 78th, in the low position in the box. We saw one of their B-24s swarmed by several aircraft, then it rolled and dived with #1 engine on fire. Cross lost sight of it in the clouds, but did see some chutes appear before that. (Aircraft later identified as the new crew: "The Four Horseman")

Shortly after that we heard from base that A-Nony-Mouse of the 79th had crashed on take-off, the bombload had detonated, and there were no survivors. Not a very auspicious start to this mission.


Zone 5: Things changed as we turned towards our target, with a small flight of two FW190s diving in on us as we crossed into Yugoslavia. Our P-47 escorts chased one off, while the other pressed on.

Brest on the nose gun and Cantalupo in the top turret both failed to connect as the Jerry pilot skilfully closed in to attack. His burst put at least one shell into us, judging by the thump that echoed through the airframe, but nothing serious ensued.

That pilot’s smile didn’t last long, though, as Ripa nailed him, the 190’s port wing separating from the fuselage, as the pilot manoeuvred into our 6 o’clock position. His yell of triumph was followed by a report of the pilot successfully getting clear.

At the same time, we saw Keep On Irascible Girl break from our formation and head down to warmer, thicker air. Carl Cook, the commander, called in saying that his bombardier had lost his oxygen feed, so they were descending to make sure he could complete the bomb run.

The flak was very light, compared to the last two trips, and nothing hit us as Brest engaged the autopilot and we ran in on the airfield.

Despite the heavy cloud below us, he reckoned that he’d seen enough to put our load on target, so Ridley and I pulled a hard starboard turn to take us back towards home. To our surprise, the flak on egress from the target was non-existent.

(Photo-recce follow-up reckoned we put 40% of our bombs on target – Brest is becoming Mr. Consistent!)

Moving out of the flak zone, we were bounced by three waves in quick succession. The Jugs escorting us took out one of the first wave, but we never saw them after that. The other three in that wave were all on our port side: one level with us off the port beam, the others off the port bow – one below and one level with us.

Cross in the ball turret and Moore on the left cheek gun missed the ones in our 10:30 arc, but King on the left waist gun and Cantalupo in the top turret both hit the one off our port side. Not enough to finish him, but enough to put off his aim.

Two of the attackers missed, with the other putting an inconsequential hole in the fuselage. The fire from King and Cantalupo was obviously enough for the one attacking from the port side, as he turned sharply away and headed for another target. The other two positioned themselves one ahead and one behind.

Ripa tracked the one manoeuvring into our 6 and put a solid burst into it; he followed up with another solid stream which resulted in the front of the aircraft exploding from (probably) an engine hit. No chute was seen afterwards as the wreckage split and tumbled to the ground.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Brest and Cantalupo were having an off day, as neither managed to connect with the one ahead of us. Thankfully, he missed too, banked away and headed for home.

A single 190 swooped in from high on the port side, but King and Cantalupo were on target again – unfortunately, again not fatally. However, it was enough to put off the Jerry, as his burst missed, and he just continued his dive past us to get out of range.

The third group came in with two of them off our starboard bow – one above and one level with us – with the other heading into our 6. Moore was unsuccessful with the right cheek gun, but Cantalupo hit the one ahead and level with us, with the 190’s starboard wing control surfaces separating from the wing and the aircraft turning over into a rolling spin. We could see the pilot frantically throwing off his straps to get free, and then we saw his chute shortly after.

Unfortunately, despite Ripa making solid contact with the one to our rear and above us, Dandridge’s attempt to help out with the radio room gun resulted in it jamming.

The two remaining Luftwaffe pilots slammed shell after shell into us, with multiple hits and a variety of effects. The Cannonball lurched to the left as Ridley and I wrestled to get it back under control; Ripa yelled, “Tail guns destroyed, dammit!” across the com and there was a brief yell from Dandridge before his mic went silent.

(Walking hit from the 190 at 6 o’clock)

The attacker from behind us disengaged, probably due to Ripa’s accurate fire (FBOA result) while the other moved off our port side for a second pass. King, Cross and Cantalupo all opened up on him, with at least one of them connecting enough to put the pilot off, as he missed us, then turned away for home.

Calling a check-in over the com resulted in silence from our radio operator. Moore said that he would head back, as his oxygen regulator had been hit, so he could do his job in the radio room using one of the spare regulators there. When he got there, he told us the bad news: “Dan’s gone, guys – looks like he took a direct hit in the chest. I’ll clean up back here, skip, you just keep on that last heading I gave you and I’ll check it in a few minutes.”

Ripa confirmed that his guns were totalled – irreparable without tools, and probably scrap when we get home. As his heat and oxygen were still working, I told him to stay back there and act as lookout for rear attacks.

It was only a few minutes later when Ridley and I realised that we were getting cold. Cantalupo had a check around the compartment and found a wrecked wiring loom, probably our heating circuit. I told the guys we were going to have to descend, which brought the usual groans, but we really had no choice. Moore broadcast our departure to the squadron, then Ridley and I put our bird into a shallow dive to warmer climes. Ypsilanti from our squadron called in immediately after we did, reporting that they too were heading downwards due to oxygen system failure.

Almost at the same time, we saw two B-24s from the 78th break formation below us and head down to lower altitude. We managed to form a rough formation with one, identifying it as Flub, but the other (later identified as "Little Tannie") must have taken a slightly different course home, as we lost sight of it.


INBOUND

Zones 4 – 1: Moore called in after a while saying that he had got Dandridge into a body bag, and confirmed our course home. After a little while longer, he added that he’d managed to unjam the gun in the radio room.

Flying over Yugoslavia with no rear gun cover was not my idea of fun, but the Luftwaffe must have focused their operation around the target area, as we did not see another enemy aircraft on the way home.

Unfortunately, being at low level attracted flak from batteries en-route, both on land, and from a couple of ships as we headed down the Adriatic. Most didn’t even get close, but we did sustain one solid hit, somewhere on the starboard wing. Cantalupo kept a nervous eye on the area for several minutes before reporting that it looked like it hadn’t hit a fuel tank, or other crucial system.

Our approach into Giulia was textbook, with Ridley firing off a red flare before a very smooth landing. We all helped get Dandridge’s body out to the waiting ambulance, with everyone solemnly silent as it drove away. He was only with us for three missions, and our list of casualties grows almost every time we take off.

Dandridge was engaged, so that’s another couple of tricky letters: one to his parents, and one to Nell – his fiancée. This was his fifth mission, so his parents will get his Air Medal along with his Purple Heart. This was also Charlie King’s fifteenth mission, so I’ll get him on the next parade to get his second Oak Leaf Cluster for his Air Medal.

Sad to say, I am becoming more inured to injury and death, having seen so much of it over these last few months. I’m worried that this will follow me out of the Air Force when all this is over, and the long-term effects of such experiences will not allow me to return to a normal life. I have to hope that I get there – it’s the one thing that keeps me going, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that I get there, along with the rest of my crew.

The multiple hits didn’t really damage the plane that much, as T/Sgt Pierce informed me that the plane will be ready to go again within 24 hours. The tech crew are amazing, and I will see the other officers tonight to put together a ‘care package’ (probably whiskey and cigarettes!) for their round-the-clock efforts that keep us flying.

Once again, I will have to request a replacement for the crew. I am encouraged, however, to see that many of the ‘originals’ are still here, along with a couple that have racked up a lot of missions with us. I am hoping not to lose any more personnel, but I also realise that this is largely out of my hands.


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)

(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

The shortest hop of our tour so far – just a quick trip up and back to Monte Cassino, where there is a hell of a battle going on. After all the letters and orders regarding Rome, Pisa and other targets, it seems a bit strange that we are going to be allowed to obliterate a medieval monastery, but if it saves some Allied lives, I’m ok with it.


Almost nothing to report on this trip. A bit of a swing to port on take-off, but Ridley caught it at the same time as me without further incident.

The very short transit to the target didn’t allow much time for fighters to find us, and none did. A little bit of excitement on the run-in to the IP as Beckworth yelled out “Bombs! It’s raining bombs!!” Cantalupo confirmed from the top turret that a stick of bombs had narrowly missed our starboard wing. Very strange – I hope it wasn’t one of our Group jettisoning their load before leaving the formation.

The flak was quite heavy as we started our final run on the target, but nothing connected. Brest got a great sight on the target and delivered our present on the top of the mountain.

The flak was just as ineffective as we left the target area, and we finally saw some sign of the Luftwaffe as a single Me109 shaped to attack us, but two of the Lightnings were on him straight away and chased him off.

As we moved out of range of the flak, Cantalupo shouted, "Look out starboard!!". I banked our bird to port while several of the crew made exclamations over the com as they watched one of the 78th's Liberators spiral past us, the starboard wing ablaze and the crew bailing out from multiple exits. Ridley and I pulled the Cannonball back on course, wondering who the unlucky crew was. (Aircraft later identified as "Flub", flying its first mission.)

#2 engine started misfiring a bit as we descended for home, but some adjustments by Cantalupo soon had it purring again.

We landed with a bit of a bounce as I let Ridley fly us in – guess we’ll need a training circuit or 10 to let him practise!

T/Sgt. Pierce was overjoyed at the state of the plane, and his crew were looking forward to an early finish after the post-flight checks.


Lots of paperwork over the next couple of days: All of the surviving ‘originals’ are scheduled to parade next week to receive our third Oak Leaf Cluster for our Air Medal; promotion papers came through for Cantalupo, making him a T/Sgt, and for Brest, bumping him up to 1Lt.

As I was working my way through the admin – my least favourite part of this war - Major Bronson appeared, unannounced. I stood up and saluted, which he returned, then he reached forward to shake my hand. “Juny, you and your boys are one of the most experienced crews in the squadron, and you’ve done a damn fine job. I’m here to ensure that the whole Group know how much we value you.”

With that, he pinned Captain’s bars on my jacket and handed over some spares. As I blurted out my thanks, he replied, “Don’t thank me too much – the first thing a new Captain has to do is get everyone in the Squadron a drink! Time to extend that bar bill of yours!!”

This was a complete surprise, but a real lift. As the magic number of 25 seems almost within reach, I am becoming more and more nervous about something happening that will stop us getting there. The tension in those of us so close to finishing our tour is palpable now, but we are trying to help each other think of other things – sport, news from home, girls – to lessen the stress. I just hope that I don’t lose anyone else on the way to 25…


1Lt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

The boys were happy after our previous mission, and hoping for more of the same. However, the announcement that we’re off back to Toulon and the sub pens there was met with quiet groans. I’m sure that, luck willing, it will be fine.

Zone 1: Another crisp winter day saw the Cannonball in top shape as we taxied out, with just a slight yaw to port on take-off, which Ridley brought under control immediately. We easily saw the formation above us, being the last to leave the ground, and we slotted into position at the rear of the squadron. I reminded the guys of our vulnerability here, and to keep a sharp lookout for bandits.

Zones 2 – 6: Despite our position at the back of the formation, any attention we attracted was seen off by our little friends. Brest called from the nose as we crossed Sardinia. "Skipper, looks like we're losing one from our squadron." Ridley pointed ahead where we could clearly see a Fortress make a controlled descent out of the formation.

"No radio call, sir," Bell reported. "Must be out."

Moore chimed in, "Looks like Tsuro if the formation card is correct - wonder what's wrong?" The B-17 moved out of our view, and I hoped that they would make it back to base.

Zone 7: After our fighters drove off another bandit, we were once again the target of bombs! Thankfully, once again, they missed.

The flak on the run-in was more accurate, slamming one into the bottom of the fuselage. I ordered Bell to go and take a look, and he reported back shortly afterwards that the bomb bay fuel transfer pump was destroyed.

Being unable to transfer fuel from the wings might have been a problem, but Moore was on the com within a minute of Bell’s report. He reckoned we had enough fuel in usable tanks to get us to the B-25 base at Ghisonaccia.

Brest lined us up well for the drop, but wasn’t too happy with his final targeting, which was later confirmed by the intel boys. (Only 20% on target)

The flak on the way out from the target was not as heavy as the previous barrage, but just as accurate. Another thunderous concussion rang through the plane, but nobody reported anything in their area, so it looks like it missed anything vital.

Only one fighter tried his luck with us on the way out, coming in from above and behind us, but a hail of lead met him and sent him spiralling downwards. Bell, Ripa and Cantalupo all reckoned they hit the Jerry, but the latter two decided Cant could claim it, as he opened fire first.


INBOUND

Zones 6 – 5: Another Me109 decided to have a go at us we headed towards Corsica, but our little friends were on the ball again, driving him away homewards.

I called in to the squadron that we were breaking formation and heading for the emergency diversion field on Corsica, emphasising that we were not seriously damaged, but wouldn’t make it home. They would also need someone to drop back and cover the tail position in the formation.

Moore’s navigation was bang on – we called in to Ghisonaccia, who put us in the circuit to land. This was accomplished very smoothly by Ridley, who is getting more comfortable keeping this big beast under control.

A jeep met us with a ‘Follow Me’ sign on the back of it; we did so until a groundcrew marshal took over and swung us into position on a spare hardstanding.

By the time we had gone through the post-shutdown checks, there was a bit of a crowd outside. As we exited the aircraft, we shook hands with, and were clapped on the back by, the Mitchell fliers. As we were chatting, we saw a Liberator on approach, so the whole gaggle of us wandered over to meet it as it taxied in. I saw it was "Southern Bellies" from the 78th, and waved up at Vanu in the cockpit. More greetings and stories ensued about our mission, until the intel crew turned up after a while to take us all off for debriefing. We had just started our verbal report when the intel officer's aide stuck his head in the door. "Captain Barrales, sir, we have another B-17 approaching, but they haven't radioed in." Right on cue, the alert siren sounded, followed shortly after by the chorus of similar sounds from the medical and fire rescue vehicles.

By that time, we were all out the door and into a couple of jeeps heading back to the landing field. "There she is!" exclaimed Brest, his trusty binoculars sweeping the sky. "Looks pretty beaten up, plus number 1 engine is not running. Can't see the nose art, but those squadron markings are ours - it's an 80th bird!"

Our drivers were weaving around the maintenance area, heading for the tower. The B-17 (it was an F model, no chin turret) was waggling its wings and then two red flares popped out over the plane, followed by two yellows. "That ain't good," quipped Cantalupo grimly.

We screeched to a halt by the tower, and piled out onto the dusty ground. Brest was able to get a better look now he wasn't moving, and soon confirmed that it was Tsuro, the same plane that left our formation earlier in the day. I remembered that this was a relatively new plane and crew, with missions still in the low single figures. "I thought that they had aborted," Ridley commented.

"Probably wish that they did now," added Moore

The pilot made a good approach, but the missing engine (plus some of the other damage we discovered after landing) affected the handling on finals, and it came down hard. There was a collective groan from those of us watching, but the Fortress is tough old bird: the gear held, and the pilots managed to wrestle the plane to stop before the end of the slightly shorter runway here. We jumped in the jeeps again and went out to meet our buddies.

By the time that we got there, the crew were out of the plane - some sitting on the ground, some standing, some of both smoking - all looking at the covered stretcher being put into the back of an ambulance. Unlike our arrival, there was a solemn hush over the crowd there, as the reality of war hit home.

I spotted Simon Palmer, the young 1Lt commanding the plane; he looked pale and shaken, but threw up a salute as I approached. "Jeez, sir, sure is nice to see a friendly face here. That was a helluva trip."

It looked like the rest of his crew was OK, so we got some transport organised and drove all three crews back to the (now packed!) intel office. Palmer and his crew had shown great fortitude. When we saw them break formation, they had lost their oxygen and their radio. However, they decided to continue the mission after descending to 5000'. They were attacked multiple times, sustaining serious damage and a series of hits in the tail killed the tail gunner, as well as wrecking the guns. Palmer's voice, and the hand holding his cigarette, were shaking as he made his report, after which both Vanu and I tried to raise his spirits by emphasising the grit and skill required to make such a long transit at low level over enemy territory. However, we both knew the pain from multiple killed and injured comrades, and knew that Palmer was going to have to find his own way of dealing with this trauma.

Vanu and I gave our reports, which finished with me drafting a signal to go to Giulia to confirm all of our aircrafts' arrival here.

Once again, just like three months’ previously, the Mitchell guys were superb hosts. We met up with a couple of old friends, and commiserated about each other’s losses since our last visit. Those that hadn’t been up previously got a couple of training trips in a Mitchell, with Ridley saying that it felt like a fighter compared to our tank!

The tech crew managed to source a replacement transfer pump and we were ready to go in a couple of days. Ops at Ghisonaccia organised fighter cover for us, along with a Mitchell escort that broke off and returned home, waggling their wings at us, about halfway to Italy.

The Bellies and Tsuro crews waved us off, as their damage needed specific parts, so they won't make it home for another couple of days at least. Lucky guys!

On landing, Capt. Bellevue’s driver was waiting for me, and I gave the boss a full debrief on our trip, and the situation with the aircraft still in Corsica. T/Sgt. Pierce was grudgingly impressed with the quality of the repair work done by the Ghisonaccia tech crew, and reckoned that once the shrapnel holes were patched permanently, we’d be ready to go again.

Another relatively easy trip, but each one gets tougher as the magic 25 approaches for some of the crew. To try and divert any bad luck, I called a crew meeting and allowed all to speak freely. I put forward the proposal that those of us getting close should fly a 26th mission to ensure that Ripa made his 25 alongside the buddies he started this war with.

There were no dissenting voices from the ‘originals’ – all agreed this was what we should do. While Ripa demurred and said that we should head home as soon as we could, we all knew him well enough to know that he was happy and relieved that we had his back.

I formally put in a request from all of the original crew to stay with the Cannonball until S/Sgt Ripa had completed his 25th mission. I await the CO’s reply.


Capt. Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table)

Moore was not happy after the briefing for this mission, cursing the long southwestern leg after leaving the target area. “We’ll have buzzards all over us for an hour or more – I hope those fighters with us are on the ball.” He wasn’t wrong, but that route allows damaged aircraft a better chance for an emergency landing on Corsica.

Zones 1 – 5: Other than a bumpy take-off, there was nothing much to report, but one of the 78th's Liberators was seen turning back almost as soon as the formation was ready to go. (Aircraft later identified as "Darwin's Dilemma") This was quickly followed by a climbing B-17, which immediately started descending again as its #3 engine burst into flames. (Aircraft later identified as "Goom Bah")

As we approached the northern Italian coast, Ridley nudged me and pointed off our starboard bow. "Someone's got an engine running down," he commented. Checking the formation chart, I informed the crew that The Baroness was having engine problems. A minute or so later, they came on the air to say that they were aborting due to a #4 engine oil leak. We saw them descend and bank to port to reverse their heading, as we headed on into occupied Italy.

This was quickly followed by Brest calling out, "Lead of the 78th - Roll n Tuck? They're breaking formation." Ridley confirmed the plane over the com, then Brest added, "Nothing serious visible - must be a key system gone down."

Despite Moore’s post-briefing complaint, we were seeing more fighters than the last couple of missions, and a lone 190 was scared off by them just after we made landfall.

As we turned towards the IP, Cantalupo reported that one of the 79th's planes was turning away from the formation with what looked like a fire on the starboard wing. (Aircraft later identified as the rookies, "Rebel Yell")


Zone 6: The Luftwaffe was all over us as we turned towards our target, with four Me109s shaping to attack us. Our Lightning friends smoked two of them and chased another off, leaving the last a little lonely as he pressed his attack from level on our starboard side.

That was his last mistake, as it put him in the way of 5 of our guns, with Cross in the ball turret, Cantalupo up top and Beckworth in the starboard waist opening up as the bandit came within range. All three hit, with Cross and Cantalupo virtually destroying the cockpit of the 109 – no chute appeared.

Others were having a tougher time; Cross yelled, "We lost one, guys!" over the com, with King and Ripa confirming that one of our squadron was in an uncontrolled dive, with what looked like an engine fire. It wasn't possible to confirm the number of chutes that made it out as our gunners focused on us not going the same way. (Aircraft later identified as "Tsuro")

The good news was that Brest put a solid load on target (50% effective) and that the flak was quite light. The bad news was – despite the light flak – we were hit twice: once on the way in, and again on the way out. However, luck was on our side, as we only took multiple minor hits.

More fighters jumped us as we turned on the long south-western leg for home. Six Me109s in two waves homed in on us, but the Lightning boys were earning their paycheck, as they halved the number attacking us before the Krauts got within range.

They buzzed around us, two coming in from different directions ahead of us, and one on our tail. Cantalupo had his eye in today, though, as his first burst hit the port wing of the attacker dead ahead, shearing it off and sending the bogey earthwards.

Moore on the starboard cheek gun and Beckworth from the waist on that side made solid contact with the one off our starboard bow. While not enough to knock it out, the pilot was obviously seriously distracted by their hits, as he failed to connect with us.

Behind us, Ripa failed to connect with the attacker, who slammed a couple of shells into us which failed to hit anything major. He then swung under us and looped up to attack dead ahead, but Cantalupo added another to his tally as his stream of .50 shells caused the engine of the bandit to explode – nobody escaped.


INBOUND

Zones 5 – 4: As we flew across northern Italy, two poor Ju88s thought it was a good idea to attack a formation of B-17s. They lasted about a minute before our gunners destroyed them both – Ripa and King getting the killing blows.

A second, more effective, wave followed up. One FW190 and two Me109s came in from different directions, with one of the 109s coming down vertically from above. Cantalupo finally missed today, and Bell was no more successful on the radio room gun. Diving like that makes us a tricky target too, resulting in the Jerry missing us and using his speed  disengage.

Moore and Beckworth opened up at the FW190 on our starboard bow, but after a second, Moore yelled out, “Jam!” over the intercom. Beckworth made contact, but not heavily enough.

The Kraut’s return burst shattered the plexiglass in the nose, but Moore and Brest both confirmed that they were ok.

The last bogey was on our tail, until Cross emulated Cantalupo and shot its nose to pieces. The crew went down with the plane.

The remaining 109 came back for more from behind us, but Cross was lethal again, destroying its port wing. Two kills in under a minute makes me glad these guys are on my side!

About five minutes later, after completing the damage check, Moore complained that he was getting cold. Cantalupo investigate and found that his suit heating point was fubar. I called in the problem to the squadron, then put the Cannonball into a shallow dive to get to warmer air, worried that we were still over land and liable to flak at that level.

The Luftwaffe seemed to have run out of steam, as we saw no more bogies before reaching the coast. Unfortunately, one of the coastal flak batteries managed to clip us with a single shell which left a nice hole just forward of the starboard waist position – mercifully, without hitting Beckworth or King.

Thankfully, Brest managed to get the starboard cheek gun working again, but I was hoping that we wouldn't need it.

Zones 3 – 1: Just when we thought it was all over, a schwarm of 109s took an interest in us. Our Lightning buddies were back with us, and saw off two of them. Cantalupo finished the day as he started it, with his first burst destroying the final Kraut’s fin, making the plane uncontrollable. I think we all owe him a beer or two for today’s work!

We lined up to land without further incident, and our bird kissed the ground gently as we put it down. A tougher mission than the last couple, but successfully completed with no casualties.

Pierce and his crew got to work on the Cannonball while we went to debrief. Unusually, he came out from the tech area to find me later and asked me to come back to the plane.

“I guess you guys don’t know how lucky you were!” he quipped, holding up a severed cable loom. “This is the bomb release circuit – one of those flak bursts must have got it AFTER you made the run. Could’ve been real interesting if it had happened before,” he commented wryly.

I left him to his work and found the rest of the crew having some chow. The gunners were happy, as – for once – the Gunnery board had been relatively generous with their claims.

Morale is good, our replacements are really bedded in well now, and we got through a tough mission with no casualties and minimal damage to the bird. Let’s hope we can keep going like this.


Capt. Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table; Axis Fighter Aircraft 1942 – 45)

Once the map for the briefing for this mission was revealed, the whole room was completely silent. It is only six months since the USAAF had its worst mauling of the war, when the previous raid on Ploesti resulted in about a third of the planes not making it back. It has become known as “Black Sunday” in the Force, and I seriously hope that history will not repeat itself.

Zones 1 – 4: Our take-off and cruise to the mission altitude went without a hitch. We were also lucky in the fact that any opposition that appeared seemed focused on other aircraft. Unfortunately, without any warning – or damage from an enemy aircraft – the whole intercom system failed.

Cantalupo was on it straight away, but after changing some fuses and recycling the system, it was still silent. I sent him round to tell the other guys that I was minded to continue for now; if we took any serious damage, we’d abort and head home. No intercom means our gunners will not be able to help each other out, but they are all so experienced now that I am hoping that it won’t be too much of a handicap.

Zone 5: As we cruised towards the Romanian border, the Luftwaffe found us. Thankfully, we had massive support from several fighter wings, which really helped thin out the opposition.

First to attack us were a couple of Me109s, backed up by a Me210. The escorting fighters chased off the 109s, but my fears about the effect of the intercom were well-founded: Our usually deadly crew only managed a single hit against the 210, which was in an arc where five of our guns could hit it. The twin-engined heavy fighter put a couple of shells into us without hitting anything major, then he turned and dived away home.

Another two Me210s followed up on the initial attack, with our friends getting the better of one of them. The remaining bogey came in from directly ahead of us, but one of the gunners managed to put off the enemy’s aim by hitting its port wing. The Jerry zoomed past and under us, then an explosive concussion told us that Ripa had connected as the bogey came into his sights.

Zone 6: We crossed into Romania with the skies clear of both clouds and enemy aircraft. However, it started getting a bit chilly, and I could also see Ridley adjusting his own suit heater rheostat. I tried mine, but I wasn’t getting any warmer. Ridley and I were having a shouted conversation about the problem when Moore appeared and joined in, saying that both he and Brest were getting really cold. I sent him around the plane, and he quickly returned saying that everyone was cold now.

Cantalupo had got straight on it, but soon reported that it was another fault that was going to have to be fixed back at base.

There was no way that we were going into Ploesti at 10000 feet – it would virtually be suicide with the predicted level of flak protecting those valuable targets. I told Moore that he should have Bell tell the squadron our problem, and that we were aborting the mission.

I eased back on the throttles as Ridley put us into a gentle, descending, 180 degree turn. I don’t think this one will count towards our tour, but I was more worried about getting everyone home safely.


INBOUND

Zone 5: We returned to Yugoslavia to find most of the Luftwaffe waiting for us! Four FW190s came to play with us, but our little friends were still with us, and chased one off.

Our guns were hammering away, but without the com, we had no idea what was going on. A couple of shells hit us, but our gunners must have been at least a little effective, as the schwarm left us alone after about three minutes.

Unfortunately, we were not alone for long, a pair of Me109s making it past our escorts, and swooping skilfully in from different directions. Our gunners were not having a great day, as the Jerries made multiple passes at us, plugging us full of holes, but I thought we had got away with it until Cantalupo virtually fell down from the top turret, his right arm hanging limply by his side. His yells of pain could be heard even without the com.

I got Ridley to get him into the radio room where Bell could look after him.

After a final pass, the two 109s must have been out of ammo, as they headed away from us.


Zones 4 – 1: We had no more bandits attack us before we got home, but we still had a fair way to go over Yugoslavia, and the flak had a good go at stopping us getting home. There were a couple of very close bursts that rocked us a bit, but we did not take any serious damage.

Bell reported that Cantalupo had something serious wrong with his shoulder, but was otherwise ok. Bell had given him a shot of morphine, which helped, and had him comfortable until we could get down.

As soon as we crossed the Yugoslavian coast, I had Brest jettison the bombs – thankfully, none of our attackers today had duplicated last week, and hit the bomb release circuit.

The rest of the trip was uneventful and the landing was silky smooth, everyone cheering when we got down safely.

We pulled into the hardstanding, and were finally able to talk to each other again without shouting. The gunners were sharing their stories, with Ripa being the only one to claim a kill today, although it appears that our guys did more damage that I thought at the time. Cantalupo was very pale, but the red flare we fired off had an ambulance there to meet him. He was able to walk out to it, and they whisked him off to the base hospital.

Pierce was surprised at the two system failures we suffered, but promised to get the Cannonball up and running within 24 hours. He caught me later on to tell me that they should still make that deadline, but the starboard tailplane would need replacing, as its main spar had taken a serious hit.

After debriefing, we trooped over to visit Cantalupo, who was sitting up in bed with some serious strapping on his left arm and shoulder. He (and the nurse he was chatting with) told us that he had a fractured shoulder blade, but Bell’s prompt action had really helped, so he should be back with us within a week. I’ll get the paperwork started for his Purple Heart, which will give him the full set to match Beckworth: DFC, Air Medal and Purple Heart!

That was a hairy mission – the deafening silence over the intercom was eerie, considering the amount of chat there usually is. I am still awaiting the CO’s decision on whether we will get mission credit or not: it isn’t usually awarded for aborts due to system failures, but we were pretty close to the target, so that should count in our favour. Let's hope so.

Addendum: After investigation by the CO's office, he awarded us credit for this mission towards our tour totals. This is very welcome, especially for Moore and Ridley, who each pick up an Air Medal award - Ripley's first, and Moore's first Oak Leaf Cluster. Ridley is officially no longer a rookie, and he continues to grow in confidence and skill in his handling of the aircraft.


Capt. Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table; Axis Fighter Aircraft 1942 – 45)

My insides tightened when I saw the target for this mission: another trip into Romania, with the inbound leg across Hungary this time. The boys were glum about this, but I reminded them that we’d been on some trips just as long, and returned safe.


Zones 1 – 3: This mission, after the high casualty rate in the Ploesti mission, could not have got off to a worse start. Aphid, ahead of us in the take-off queue, started off down the runway; just as they rotated, we could hear their #1 engine shrieking, probably due to a propeller problem. This resulted in enough of a loss of power that they piled in just over the perimeter fence and the bombload blew up.

Shaken by this, Ridley, Cantalupo and I double-checked everything before asking for take-off clearance, then held our breath until we were safely airborne.

The group suffered an early casualty when one of the 78th's aircraft had to abort and turn for home after a serious mauling by the Luftwaffe not long after take-off. (Aircraft later identified as "Da Dumptruck")

Nothing much to report until we got close to Yugoslavia, then Cross started complaining that his turret wouldn’t move. Cantalupo went to investigate, and within a couple of minutes, Cross confirmed the ball turret was functioning again. “Dirty connector – and not screwed in fully tight,” Cantalupo commented.

Just as well it was a quick repair, as shortly afterwards company arrived. One FW190 kept us focused on our front as his partner dived in from above. Cantalupo and Brest put off the one ahead of us with decent hits, resulting in the Jerry’s shots missing us; however, the one from above could not be hit by Bell with the radio room gun, and slammed several shells into the nose area.

Shouts and curses from both Brest and Moore had us fearing the worst, but they both calmed down as their assailant dove away. “I got some shrapnel in the back of my right leg – hurts like hell!” complained Brest.

Moore followed up with, “My suit’s ripped, but whatever hit me didn’t do any serious damage; I’m OK.” I instructed Bell to have a look at them both with the first aid kit.

Cantalupo broke in, “Number 1 engine is running rough, Skip. Dunno if it took a hit.” After a couple of minutes, he gave me the thumbs up and went back to his top turret.

Bell stopped on the way back to the radio room, accompanied by a limping Brest. Bell plugged in and gave us an update. “Moore’s fine – another graze on his thigh to go with the one on his neck from a couple of months ago! Farris is ok, but looks like he’s got calf muscle damage – maybe his Achilles tendon is cut. Also, his heat console is fubar, so he can plug in at the spare point with me, then head back to the nose just for the bomb run.”

Good work and initiative by Bell – he’s shaping up well.


Zones 4 – 5: We cruised on towards our target, entering Hungary for the first time, and they didn’t seem very pleased to see us! We were attacked by several waves of Luftwaffe aircraft, but our fighters were all over them. Eventually, only a couple of FW190s got through to us. We exchanged lead for a couple of minutes, neither them nor us managing to do any damage, before they disengaged and left.

Unfortunately, Cantalupo’s opening shots had silenced suddenly as he experienced a double gun jam in the top turret. Working feverishly, he managed to get them both serviceable again, much to our relief.

As we approached the Romanian border, Cross alerted us to the fact that one of the 78th’s aircraft was dropping out of formation. (Aircraft later identified as “Phabulous Phyllis”)


Zones 6 – 8: Just before the IP, Cross called out, “Fortress going down!” Moore, in the nose, confirmed one of the 79th’s aircraft was spiralling down and appeared to have suffered  #3 and 4 engine failures. (Aircraft later identified as “Wapakoneta”)

The run in to the target was really calm, compared to what we had heard about the Ploesti trip after our early finish on that one. We were attacked by a single Me110 on the way in to the target, but the escorts took care of it. Flak was pretty light, but we were hit once – but not anywhere that caused serious damage.

There was a muffled, “Woah!” from Moore as he prepared to change places with Brest. “Lead plane of the 78th has had its starboard wing blown off!! I’m not seeing many chutes…” Seems it’s a bad day for the Liberator squadron, as we have seen several of their kites break formation for one reason or another. (Aircraft identified as "Lola")

Moore and Cantalupo called out almost in unison, "Another one going down!". Cantalupo added, "Looks like the new guys - you know, the ex-ferry pilots?"

Moore confirmed Cant's hunch. "Yeah, if the formation hasn't changed much, that should be 'Fort Mackinac', like Cant says." The good news came from Cross, who said that it looked like a controlled descent, with nobody bailing out.

Brest limped forward and exchanged places with Moore for the bomb run, which was pretty good, with intel reporting later that it looked like 30% of our eggs were on target

Flak was ineffective on the way out, and some Jerries that were on their way in to have a go at us were shot to pieces by other gunners from our squadron – thanks all!

(Initially rolled 2 waves for Zone 8 on the way to the target. The first was the Me110; the second was a random event. Using Peckham’s Variant RE table, I rolled 43 “German Shadow”. As I was in the target zone, I had to roll again on Table A in Peckham’s variant. Rolling a 7 sent me to Table 5.3B, Light Resistance, with a roll of 12: “the next wave of attackers is driven off by other bombers”. That meant that the four Me109s that were supposed to attack us on the way out of the zone didn’t get the chance to do so!)


INBOUND

Zones 7 - 1: As we left the target area, King drew our attention to another of the 78th’s Liberators dropping out of formation. It’s a long way home at ten thousand feet… we know! (Aircraft later identified as “Big Bad Wolfe”)

At virtually the same time, Bell passed on a message from the squadron frequency: Sin City had experienced a total O2 failure, so was also dropping to 10000’.

Thirty minutes later, there was an attack on our formation’s opposite flank. We couldn’t help much, and several of our gunners reported one of our squadron dropping out of formation, with what looked like a runaway engine. Brest, consulting the formation sheet informed us that it was the spare bomber, Queenie, with a rookie crew on board. Cross counted nine chutes as it fell away from our viewpoint.

Just before leaving Romania, Cross reported one of the 79th's aircraft blowing up. (Aircraft later identified as "Canterbury Tale")

The rest of the trip home was relatively uneventful. Just over halfway back, Cantalupo came on the com to inform us that his turret had stopped working, but he had it going again within ten minutes. He’s earned his money on this mission, but is going to get Pierce to have a good look at both turrets’ electrical systems before our next trip.

A single FW190 tried to get on our tail as we closed on the Yugoslavian coast, but (once again) our fighter friends dealt with him before we had to.

We descended through pretty thick cloud and steady rain into Giulia, firing a couple of red flares on approach before making a less than perfect landing, but keeping the plane in one piece. [rolled a 2, -1 for poor weather, +1 for my pilot’s experience!]


Taking a look around the plane, we hadn’t taken much damage at all. Bell helped Brest down the steps and into the waiting ambulance, while Moore tried to push off the attention of the medics, embarrassed to again have a ‘war wound’ that looks less sore than you get sliding during a baseball game! The non-coms have now christened him ‘Graze’, as his previous wound that got him his first Purple Heart looked like a shaving cut!

For the length of that mission, we got off really lightly. Our fighters were superb today, dealing with most of the threats before they got to us. There is suppressed excitement now amongst the originals – two more missions to go before our tour is up. Ripa is still insisting that we go home after the next one, but we are going to make sure he comes with us. We always talk in hushed tones, when we talk at all about reaching the magic ‘25’, as we have seen too many friends fail when within touching distance of getting back to the States.

Visiting Brest the day after the mission, he looked fine, but the docs confirmed Bell’s diagnosis, and reckon that he won’t be up for flying duties for about a week. He growled back at the medic, “If you think I’m going to lie here while my friends put their lives at risk, you are fooling yourself!” He turned to me and continued, “Best hope the next mission isn’t up before I’m well, Skipper, or the MPs will have to haul me off the Cannonball!”

I could see that he wasn’t joking. I will have to check the proposed mission dates and make sure that he gets permission to discharge early from the base hospital if needed.


Capt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table; Axis Fighter Aircraft 1942 – 45)

I groaned inwardly when the sheet came off the flight map at the briefing – Ploesti again, after the drubbing the group got just a couple of weeks ago. We missed out on the worst of it back then, due to aborting because of multiple system failures, but we all know the stories that came out of the last trip over Romania. I was hoping for somewhere closer to home for our 25th trip.

“Not sure the boys will like this one, Juny,” Farris commented as we left the briefing.

“I don’t like it either, Farris, but liking it doesn’t really figure high on the Group’s priority for targets, I guess,” I called after him as he limped off for the bombardiers’ briefing. It was good to see he managed to get signed off by the docs as fit for duty with a day to spare, despite them having to stitch up his Achilles tendon after the last mission.

Sure enough, there were glum faces amongst the NCOs when we all met up later. They looked even glummer after I informed them that we were tail-end Charlie for our squadron!

Ripa started rocking back and forth in his seat, muttering, “Goddamit, goddamit” over and over.

I was about to chip in with something to make them smile, but Cant beat me to it. “Boys, we flown thousands of miles together, downed or damaged over a hundred Nazi airplanes and put tons of bombs where it can hurt the Jerries the most. We ain’t got nothin’ to prove, and we ain’t gonna do anythin’ different on this trip: Skipper and Sidekick fly us there and back safe; Graze makes sure they’re goin’ the right way, Binos puts the eggs on the plate, and if we do our jobs, we get back here – just like we have up ‘til now.” There were nods of agreement, even a few smiles, and Ripa stopped his rocking and shook Cant’s hand. For the first time, I realised all the officers in the crew had been given nicknames, some of them inventive – some not so much!

As we climbed in the transport to head for breakfast before the flight, I too shook Cant’s hand and thanked him for what he said.

“Skipper, we’ve known each other only just over a year, but what we do makes that seem a lot longer. We trust you with our lives every time we get in the Cannonball, and you ain’t let us down yet, even in the worst situation we been in. I just wanted everyone to realise how each of us doin’ our jobs is how we’re all still here – I know we lost some friends along the way, and we seen many more aircraft disappear in a few seconds – but we’re still here. Ain’t gonna be different if we just do everything like we done in the past.” He flashed me the famous grin that always appears, even in the most stressful situation, and we climbed aboard the truck.


Zones 1 – 7: While the weather was great, a freak gust of wind caught us as we left the ground, swinging us wildly to starboard. I caught it with the rudder, Ridley rolled us into the gust and Cantalupo adjusted the engine power on both sides to get us back on course. [Rolled a 3 for takeoff!]

A deceptively-quiet trip to the target area. That may have been due to the multiple fighter groups escorting the mission – we were well protected all the way to Ploesti.

Some opposition did get through, however. Just south of Nis in Yugoslavia, we were surprised to see one of the 79th’s aircraft above us disappear in a massive explosion. “Looks like one of those FWs hit the bomb load,” Beckworth commented ruefully. (Aircraft later identified as “Bingo”)

As we crossed into Romania, I called on everyone to stay sharp as we approached what is probably the most dangerous target in Europe.


Zone 8: My warning was somewhat prescient: almost as soon as we moved into Romanian airspace and beyond the range of fighter cover, we became the focus of attention for multiple waves of attackers.

First came three FW190s – one ahead, one behind and one off our starboard side. Our gunners were on the ball today, as everyone who fired reported a hit, but none of those hits were enough to down any of the opposition. Thankfully, our defensive fire must have put them off their aim, as only the one from our rear managed an inconsequential hit somewhere in the fuselage.

Two of the FWs broke off, looking for easier prey; the third pulled a tight turn to come in from our port side. King, on the port waist gun, couldn’t get a bead on him. but Cantalupo had tracked him all the way and blew up his engine with twin streams of lead from the top turret. The pilot wasted no time getting out of his stricken plane as the cheers echoed over the intercom.

Focus returned quickly, as Brest called out, “Four more, guys – all ahead of us!”

Both of the Me109s and one of the FW190s were dead ahead, the 190 slightly higher than the 109s; the other FW was swooping in at our altitude off our starboard bow.

Brest was unsuccessful with his attempt to nail one of the 109s, but Moore, on the starboard cheek gun, managed a hit that we could see had gone through the 190’s canopy, but the return fire from the fighter proved that he hadn’t managed to hit the pilot.

Cantalupo had swung the top turret round again to cover the other 190 and proceeded to stitch shells across the bandit’s port wing. As the pilot tried to bank out of the line of fire, the wing split apart, sending the plane into a tight spin from which the pilot failed to escape. Two kills in two minutes – no wonder he’s an ace!

The 109 that had been given no attention from our gunners managed to hit us with a couple of shots, but neither hit anything consequential.

The remaining 190 decided we were too tough a target, and broke off after missing us by a long way. One of the 109s banked around directly behind us, with Ripa unable to make him pay as the plane came into his arc of fire; the other repositioned himself off our starboard bow.

The thunder of our guns began again as they came within range, with both bogeys taking hits from one or more of our guns. Ripa reported that something had come off the wing of the one to our rear, which must have caused enough of a problem that the Jerry missed his easy shot at us, then banked away unsteadily, out of range.

The final 109 also missed us, then zoomed below us before executing a split-s manoeuvre and heading for home.

Their places were taken almost immediately by another two FW190s and a lone Me210. The 190s were approaching at high speed from ahead of us, resulting in Brest missing his shot; Cantalupo, however, had his eye in today, and once again put a deadly burst into one of the Jerry planes, smashing the canopy and the fuselage under it. The pilot must have been killed, as the plane rolled over and spiralled away earthwards without any chute appearing.

The Me210 had unwisely decided to climb up towards us after attacking the 78th below us. Cross, in the ball turret, had no trouble lining up several bursts on the very slow heavy fighter that resulted in something terminal happening to the starboard engine, which blew up, taking the outer wing off the plane. The crazy roll induced resulted in no crew escaping.

The undamaged FW positioned himself high off our port side, but on his way round there, Ripa got in a solid hit. As the bandit dived on us, King and Cantalupo opened up on him, but the latter’s luck had run out for the day. Cant came on the com, “Single gun jam, guys,” he ruefully informed us, the rattle from the top turret notably quieter.

However, King made up for that from the port waist position, delivering a definite hit that caused the Jerry to miss his own shot.

After he passed us again, we thought he was breaking off, but he came down our port side, just out of range of the guns, and several of us could clearly see him shaking his fist at us and shouting something before breaking off for his base! (Resolution of ‘Curious George’ random event from Zone 5)

The attention from the Luftwaffe dissipated as we entered the final approach to the target and Brest settled himself down on the bomb sight.

The flak was the heaviest I’ve ever seen – black and grey smoke everywhere, with spent shrapnel falling like rain on the canopy with a heavy pattering sound. We were rocked a couple of times, but nothing hit us, allowing Brest to put our bombs on target, despite the poor visibility – augmented by the smoke the Germans were using to camouflage it.

As we banked away from the target, Moore called out, “The Baroness is breaking from our formation, guys. Looks like they’ve taken a hammering – number 2 engine is out and there’s smoke coming from the waist gun area.”

“No radio call, Skipper: maybe it’s fubar. Hope they make it back,” added Bell from the radio room.

Cross broke in, "Liberator going down - only one engine - don't look good!" Within a minute, he was back on the com, "Nine chutes - better than none." (Aircraft later identified as "Dinah Might")

The flak was still pounding away at us, with more close calls, but no hits. Once we cleared the immediate target area, the trip out was easier than the initial approach with only one FW190 picking on us from off the starboard side. Cantalupo, despite having only one gun operating managed a hit that put off the pilot’s aim, but Beckworth wasn’t able to make contact, his tracer going wide of the target. However, Cant’s hit was enough to prevent us being damaged, and the lone bandit decided not to play anymore, diving away for home


INBOUND


Zones 7 - 1: The trip home was quiet, with Cant clearing the jam in the top turret gun shortly after leaving the target area. Just after crossing back in Yugoslavia, Ripa reported a Liberator with an engine out unable to keep up with the 78th gradually falling behind the group. (Aircraft later identified as "Trade School")

Our only problem happened as we were about halfway across Yugoslavia. Number 3 engine started coughing, which brought Cant down from his turret straight away. “It’s already smoking, Skipper, I’ll shut it down and feather the prop.”

As he began to run through the shutdown procedure, there was a loud bang from the failing engine, followed by Beckworth shouting over the com, “Fire! Starboard engine on fire!!”

Cant’s hands flew across the engine controls, successfully closing off the fuel to the engine and feathering the prop before all power was lost. I held my breath and reached for the extinguisher switch. Everyone’s attention was now focused on our flaming inboard engine. Thankfully, the extinguisher did its job, and the cloud of chemicals smothered the fire.

Cant had a look at the aftermath of the fire from several viewpoints before informing us that it looked like there wasn’t any damage done, other than to the engine itself.

I had Bell radio the squadron with our situation, but with the bomb load long gone, we had no trouble maintaining position in the formation, with Cant adjusting revs and mixture to ensure that we kept up, even with one engine out.

We were soon in sight of Giulia again, and Ridley fired off a yellow flare to warn the ground of our situation. Our landing was as bad as last week [rolled a 2+1 – again! Thank goodness for good weather…], but there was still a chorus of cheers when we settled back on solid ground.

We could see a larger crowd than usual as we taxied in to our hardstanding. As we shut down, I recognised Major Frazer from Ops and our groundcrew, along with walking wounded friends from other planes, all clapping and cheering.

When we got out of the plane, we were surrounded by well-wishers, shaking our hands and clapping us on the back. It came home to me that five of us had done it – survived twenty-five missions. Our buddies from the Cannonball who weren’t one of the ‘originals’ were smiling just as wide as everyone else and joined in the congratulations.

Major Frazer pushed through the throng. “Great job, gentlemen! An example to us all, which deserves some reward.” He started pressing cigars into our hands (even though a couple of us don’t smoke), then reached in the chart bag over his shoulder and pulled out a bottle of bourbon and some cups.

Toasts were drunk; deceased and departed friends were remembered, but eventually, the war returned and the crowd dispersed. Major Frazer offered me a lift to our debrief, so I took the opportunity to mention that I had received no reply to my letter requesting an extension of one mission for those who started together in the Cannonball, to allow us to support S/Sgt Ripa, who missed a mission due to being wounded in action.

“Well, Juny,” Frazer replied, “I’ve seen that letter, and while the CO appreciates the spirit of friendship within it, he’s not sure that five guys going past their tour limit when they could be helping train aircrew with their hard-won experience is such a good idea. I think he’s kicked it upstairs to the top brass, but getting an appointment with him and putting your case personally might help.”


I entered our debriefing in a thoughtful mood, and will take the Major’s advice to see the boss personally and see if I can persuade him to let us fly the Cannonball one more time as a team.

Much rejoicing in the evening, with a huge party for so many of us hitting 25 at the same time. An even bigger surprise were the postcards from Teddy and Harmon – Khalapov is training radio operators at Scott Field, just south-east of St. Louis. Harmon’s leg hasn’t recovered enough for flying duty yet, but he is ground training B-17 aircrew at Pyote Field in Texas. Nice to hear from them both that they have recovered from their wounds.

The party wound down very late (early!), so I am going to leave the paperwork for the new clusters for our Air Medals until later. I also need to think about how I can convince the CO to extend our tour.

My relief at making it through twenty-five missions is tempered with the feeling that one more might just be one too far.


Capt Juny Barrales, Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table; Axis Fighter Aircraft 1942 – 45; Ship Bombing Rules)

The recovery from the ‘25th’ party took a day, but I was anxious to find out if we ‘originals’ were going to be cleared to fly another mission to help Ripa get to his 25.

Major Frazer caught me at lunch and said that the Group CO wanted to see me at 1500. I finished up my coffee and headed off to make sure my dress uniform was in good shape.

Arriving on time, I was ushered into the CO’s office by Maj. Frazer to find the whole Group’s (plus the 80th Squadron’s) brass there. The only encouraging thing was that they were all smiling!

Col. Harpur opened proceedings by inviting me to sit down after I saluted him. “Damned fine job you and your guys have done in the Cannonball,” he said, shaking my hand as I sat down. “To have five of one crew make it through together is – to put it mildly – unusual.”

“Almost unprecedented in our Group, sir,” Frazer interjected.

“Indeed,” continued the Colonel. “That’s why you and your crew’s request to fly an extra mission on top of their twenty-fifth had to be sent upstairs – all the way upstairs. Read this.”

Grinning, he handed me a letter. I scanned the opening and the final signature, seeing the name “Major-General Nathan F. Twining”: the commander of the 15th Air Force.

Getting to the message within the letter, I quickly skim-read it until I saw the section: “the surviving original members of the crew of Cheyenne Cannonball are authorised to complete one more mission to help the final original member reach twenty-five missions.”

“Congratulations, Captain; you and your boys get to fly again.” He interrupted as I started to thank him.

“There are two provisos on this: One – all those members who wish to go on this mission must place their request to do so in writing with Captain Jacob, the 80th’s XO, by midday tomorrow.

Two – once this mission is complete, all surviving members of the original crew will be stood down from further flying.” He held up his hand as I tried to protest.

“What you have accomplished is unusual for Air Force bomber crews. The six of you will tour the States as a group to boost War Bond purchases and Army Air Force recruitment. After six months, you may request a return to active service; those who do not wish to do so will be posted to training units to pass on their valuable experience.

That’s the only offer on the table, Captain - put it to your crew. If it is not to their liking, you will all have to do the PR tour anyway, as this is the military and we aren’t big on free will!” He was still smiling as he said it, however.

Frazer drove me back to my quarters, and I wasted no time getting Cantalupo to round up the NCOs while I got the officers together.

On explaining the situation, to a man, all of the originals started asking/scrabbling for writing materials. Within minutes, every single one had handed me their confirmation that they wished to fly one more trip, which I delivered to the Squadron office without delay.

We didn’t have long to wait: a couple of days later, the briefing notice went up and later that day we discovered that we were heading to Toulon again, this time to bomb ships in the harbour. Trickier than stationary targets, and a long trip there and back – at low level too! Still, being in formation at low level is a different kettle of fish to being on your own there, and intel tells us that we will have multiple squadrons of fighter cover, including the Red Tails that have been so effective previously, as well as RAF Spits from Corsica.

Let’s hope things go well…

(I tried to get some help on whether this sort of thing happened or not, and put requests in through private messages and the 80th office without any replies, so I went ahead with what you see above – hope this is acceptable)


Zones 1 – 3: Fabulous weather again, making the take-off and climb to formation a breeze.

Things were quiet until we were well out over the Tyrrenhian Sea, then three FW190s decided to pick on us. Even this far out, we still had escorts, and they chased one away while the others came in from dead ahead and off our starboard side.

The familiar thunder of our guns started as they came in range, with hits reported on both. While both fired back, nothing came of their efforts. One almost crashed into us as he frantically broke away while the other managed to avoid Ripa’s effort to shoot him when our tail gunner took an opportunistic shot as the 190’s momentum carried it into our rear arc. This aircraft, too, then headed for home.


Zones 4 – 7: As we made the sharp starboard turn at the IP, Brest was using his binoculars to try and find some nice, slow-moving targets in the jumble of shipping within the port.

A couple of groups of fighters looked like they were shaping up to attack us, but those Red Tails were all over them, and none got through to shoot at us.

“I got a couple, Skipper. Looks like a couple of decent-sized tankers. Engaging autopilot,” Brest informed us.

Ridley and I released the yokes and left the plane under the control of Brest and his bomb sight.

The flak thumped away at us, but nothing even got close enough to disturb our run-in.

“Bomb doors open,” Brest said. We heard the familiar grind and thump as they did so.

“Further target is turning away; I’m sticking with the closer one. 3 – 2 – 1 – Bombs away.”

The aircraft lurched as half the bombload left it, and also due to Brest’s sharp course change. “Bombs gone!” Brest called as the remainder of the load headed down to the sea. “All yours, Skipper.”

We made the turn for home as Brest quickly grabbed his binoculars and scanned for the targets he had just bombed.

“First target looks like we got a hit – the bow’s buckled. Second one, I can only see some holes in the superstructure. Ah well – that’s not bad for a moving target from this height.”

"Skipper," Bell called over the com, "Reluctant Dragon is aborting - bomb doors won't open - they're heading for Corsica."

Glancing to my left, I could see the bomber make a descending starboard turn. I mentally wished them well, especially if they can't get rid of those bombs before landing.

The flak continued its attempts to make this our last mission, but despite a couple of near misses that sent shrapnel rattling off the fuselage, nothing hit us.

A pair of 190s banked round on to our tail, but the RAF arrived in their Spitfires to make sure that they had something more urgent to deal with.


INBOUND

Zones 6 – 1: The fun continued as we headed towards Corsica, with a couple of 109s shaping up in front of us before four Red Tails bounced them from a higher altitude.

And that was it – the Cannonball purred along, the sun shone, and nothing else disturbed us all the way home. A great ending to an historic mission was topped off by Ridley, Cant and I making a perfect landing – the aircraft kissing the ground at exactly the right attitude and speed. [Rolled a 10, +2 for pilot on mission 26+ = 12!]

Everyone cheered, Ripa the loudest. There was a LOT of chat back and forth as we taxied in. Once again, a huge crowd awaited us at our hardstanding, and we went through the congratulations again.

Our debriefing was quick, and we were soon all in the bar, with the ‘originals’ celebrating making it through together.


The Squadron and Group brass made their appearance before things got too far out of hand, distributing more congratulations and handshakes. The Colonel will be presenting the clusters for our Air Medals as soon as possible, as he is under orders to get us moving back to the USA as quickly as possible.

So – I made it. I did not realise how stressed I was getting, and I could actually feel a physical change come over me when I realised that I would be going home. I have six months to decide what to do next, which I am going to enjoy, and I won’t be making any decisions about the future until then.


Capt Juny Barrales, Former Pilot Commanding
B17F-5DL-42-02968 "Cheyenne Cannonball"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table; Axis Fighter Aircraft 1942 – 45)

Well, here it is. Plucked from the spare personnel pool (in which I’ve been languishing since arriving in Italy a few weeks ago) and put in charge of a brand-new B-17G. Slightly nervous at that, as the veteran guys in the crew of the plane are from the much-lauded Cheyenne Cannonball. That plane, and the six original crew that made it through a full tour in it, are already gaining legendary status in the Group – and beyond. 2Lt Glen Ridley didn’t look too happy when we met with the Squadron CO and he was informed that I was taking over as commander. My experience on the G model through training on, and then ferrying, one was apparently enough for me to get the nod over him.

The first crew meeting was a little tense too. The more experienced guys were easy to spot, compared to the wide-eyed rookies brought in to occupy the vacant spots the departing crew left. Sgt King, with only three missions left until he makes a full tour, was relaxed and joking with everyone, but when the talk turned to teamwork in a mission, he was focused, forceful and everyone listened in complete silence. I’m hoping that he, along with S/Sgt Evans, will be a stabilising force within the NCOs. Evans is a rookie, but nine years older than the majority of the crew at 31. He has the confidence that comes from life experience and having a family, and when he said, “Just call me Grandpaw,” he signed himself up to his own nickname. 2Lt Moore, our navigator, is another veteran over half-way to twenty-five missions, and wears a cluster on his Purple Heart. When the other vets called him “Graze”, I asked why that was, and his embarrassed admission that both medals were awarded for ‘wounds’ that matched up to the severity of a shaving cut broke the ice even more.

The meeting went well, with the vets not using their experience to mock those of us without it, but instead giving valuable advice on how we can ALL make it through. As 2Lt Ridley said in his mid-West drawl, “Gents, it doesn’t matter how many missions we have flown – each one is a lottery, and the only way to win that lottery is do our jobs, and assist each other when needed.” Sound advice, which I hope we all follow.

We only managed a couple of training flights, but I was encouraged at the advice that flowed around the aircraft over the com when we did so. It’s made me more confident that we can operate efficiently together.


Zones 1 – 4: The weather wasn’t great for take-off, with worse forecast for our return, but we made it off the ground without incident, and once above the low cloud, finding the Group wasn’t too difficult.

Things were quiet for this first mission until we were about halfway to the target, then two groups of bogeys focused their attention on us. Two Me109s, one ahead, one behind, were driven off by our escort, as was the FW190 dead ahead. However, our friends could do nothing about the other FW190 diving in from directly above us.

For the first time, I heard the thunder of the Fortress’s guns in combat, but the result was disappointing. Neither Grandpaw, in the upper turret, nor Bell, on the radio room gun, reported any hits. The German was more accurate, plugging us with a few holes that – initially – felt like nothing had happened. His speed carried him away from us, preventing another attack.

After a minute, it became evident that the plane wanted to roll right, pointing to a problem with one of the ailerons. Thankfully, we were able to adjust the trim enough to prevent that, as holding the plane level manually would have been a lot of work with the distance we still have to travel.

More bad news arrived a couple of minutes later: Sgt Livingston came on the intercom, saying, “I’m getting cold guys.” Less than a minute later he came on again. “My suit is fine – I plugged it into Charlie’s controller, so it looks like my controller is busted.”

I didn’t want to break formation at this point in the trip, so I ordered Livingston to the radio room and a spare heating point, and told King to cover both waist guns, in the hope we don’t get planes from both sides at the same time – which King confirmed was quite rare.

Just south of the Italian coast, we made our south-westerly turn and began the run-in on our target at Reggio Emilia


Zone 5: Surprisingly, over the target area we were not bothered by fighters at all, and soon the flak started pounding us. Nothing hit us, but the storm of shells seemed to fill the sky. “Relax guys,” came King’s voice over the com, “This is just a light shower!” It may have seemed like that to him, but seeing it live for the first time made it seem a lot worse.

(I rolled the Banzai! random event for this zone. It is applied in Zone 4 on the way home: any 3-fighter group, all attack from the same direction.)

The tension was obvious in 2Lt Fraser’s voice too as he brought us in over the target. The flak continued, but still managed to avoid hitting us. After Fraser’s “Bombs gone!”, Ridley and I banked the plane hard to port for the homeward journey.

The flak was as inaccurate on the way back to the coast as it was on the way in, and Goering’s finest seemed more occupied with others in the Group than us.


INBOUND

Zones 4 – 1: Our avoidance of the Luftwaffe couldn’t continue, and – sure enough – we became the focus for a group of three FW190s, all approaching in our 130 arc, but at differing altitudes. Our escorting fighters engaged the one at our altitude, leaving us to deal with the other two.

The racket from our guns was even louder this time, as multiple positions engaged the fighters. Our fire was inconsequential, however, despite Grandpaw reporting a hit on the one above us. That must have been enough to put the Jerry off, as after missing us, he disengaged and left for home.

The final bogey banked hard and turned behind us to get into position for another shot, but Sgt Demery (on the tail guns) managed to give him something to think about, damaging the 190’s starboard wing as it moved through his arc of fire.

“Here he comes!” exclaimed Sgt. Randall in the ball turret. The thunder started up again, with a huge tattoo of hits on the plane being quickly followed by a cheer from, a scream from someone over the com, and then a bright flash as the bogey exploded.

“Got his fuel tank, I think, Skipper – he’s gone. So are my guns, but I’m OK,” Randall confirmed.

“Fire! Fire back here in the tail!” shouted Demery.

“Bud is down,” 2Lt Moore calmly reported, “I’ll see what I can do.” I ordered Sgt. Livingston forward to assist the navigator with his first aid on our bombardier.

“Fire’s out in the tail,” Demery confirmed. “I only used one of the extinguishers." I ordered him to get Randall out of the ball turret, as if the guns aren’t working, it’s not worth risking his life there.

Livingston and Moore came past the pilot compartment with the unconscious bombardier. Moore came on the com after returning to the nose area. “Bud’s got a bit of plexiglass embedded in his abdomen,” he reported, “But he’s still breathing, if unconscious. Livingston and I patched him up, and Tim will look after him until we land.”

With no more threats present, I asked Randall to have a look around the plane as we descended to 10000 feet and warmer, thicker air.

It was obvious during the descent that the controller for the heating in the pilot compartment had also been hit, but we made it down before the cold adversely affect either Ridley or I.

“Lotsa holes, Skipper, plus pretty bad fire damage in the tail area, “ Randall reported after a few minutes. “Plus the right waist heater controls have taken a direct hit , and the guns in my turret are just scrap.”

I wasn’t happy, but it could have been worse. I ordered Demery back to the tail position, and instructed Randall to take over the right waist position as we approached a comfortable cruising level.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, and even though the weather was the worst I’ve ever landed in, with Ridley’s experienced help, we got the Cannonball back on the ground in one piece.

An ambulance was waiting at our hardstanding, and they quickly whisked Fraser away to the Base Hospital.

I was deeply unhappy about Fraser’s situation, and the other new arrivals also had that stunned look of disbelief and fear. Sgt. King stepped forward, “Guys – this is war. You’ll see I’m smiling? That’s because our crewmate is alive. I’ve shipped dead bodies out of the last crate I was in, so a live one – albeit injured – is one up on that. He’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

We drove off to debrief in a slightly better mood, but King’s acceptance of the situation proves that I have a ways to go before I am used to the effects of this war.


Debrief was pretty quick, and the post-recce brief showed that Bud got 30% of our bombs on the railyard, so we went to cheer him up the next day. He was lying down, but conscious, with his midriff bandaged, and smiled when he saw us. He explained quietly that the bit of the nose plexiglass hadn’t actually punctured anything internal, just caused swelling in his stomach and spleen tissue. He said that they’d cleaned up everything and stitched him up, as well as loaded him with penicillin. He reckons he’ll be back in a couple of days, but the later notification from the hospital said that he was signed off for a week. I did feel better after that, and maybe King’s attitude to what happens on missions is the one to cultivate.

I’ve put in the paperwork for Bud’s Purple Heart, and the crew meeting we had after visiting him indicated that everyone is, if not ok, then at least adapting to the situation we’re in.


1Lt Jason Morlan, Pilot Commanding
B17G-45BO-42-97405 "Cannonball II"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG

[GaryK]

After Action report: (using TfT)
(Optional rules: Crew-chief effects; Jasta 6 Table 5-3b + German Pilot Quality; Peckham’s Random Event Variant Table; Axis Fighter Aircraft 1942 – 45; Crew Stress)

The first mission in my new plane went relatively well, although 2Lt Fraser may slightly disagree. We all made multiple trips to see him during the week, but it was down to me to give him the bad news that the next mission was scheduled for a day before he was due to be declared FFD. I applied for a replacement from the spare personnel pool, and we got in a couple of training flights with 2Lt Fred Wray as bombardier. A cheery guy, with a few missions under his belt, he seemed to know his job well.

Huge groans came from all of the vets, including Wray, when we met to discuss the next mission’s target: Ploesti. We newbies had heard the awful tales of the previous missions there: multiple bombers and dozens of crew lost or killed.

Ridley and King led the rallying with the tale of the last mission there – the Cheyenne Cannonball’s 25th mission. Multiple fighter attacks, flak you could walk on, and because everyone stuck to their task, they made it through; they gave us rookies enough grit to think we could do the same.

While not exactly happy, the meeting broke up in determined mood, and I looked forward to my sternest test since arriving in Italy.


Zones 1 – 8: After all of the horror stories from previous missions, the run to the target across occupied Yugoslavia was a breeze. Being the middle squadron of the Group helped, I think, as the few fighters challenging our formation didn’t make it to us – even in the target zone!

Just south of Skopje, Bell came on the com. "Ildjotunen is aborting, Skipper - engine failure."

The flak was much lighter than expected – even less than last week’s mission, which (again) was surprising, considering the vital nature of these oil facilities to the Nazi cause. Even light flak can be deadly, however. Grandpaw's sudden "Woooooah!" had us all looking up. "Someone up in the 79th's formation just blew up. I can't see any chutes." Wreckage - large and small - fell past us without striking the plane.

"Probably a flak hit on the bombs," commented King. "At least it's quick," he added mournfully. (Aircraft later identified as "Flak Jacket")

Nothing hit us on the way in, but the steady approach didn’t help Wray one bit, as he constantly complained that he couldn’t see a single landmark to ensure we were on target. We discussed shifting to the secondary target, but Moore and Bell reminded us that the latest met reports put the weather at the secondary target in the same category as we had here. In the end, Wray’s call of “Bombs gone” was given in a disappointed tone. (Bombs were off target – 0% hit)

A loud thump rocked the plane as we turned for home, with Sgt Demery coming on the com a minute or so later. “Skipper, my oxygen has failed; I’m in the radio room, using one of the spare regulators.”

As we began our descent to 10000’, we had our first nibble of the day, but one of our escorts engaged the 109 before it could get close enough to take a shot at us.

We were not the only ones to suffer over the target, as Bell reported that Miss Jackson County was also breaking formation due to multiple system failures, and had taken heavy casualties.


INBOUND

Zones 7 – 1: Settling at 10000’ meant that Demery could get back on the tail guns, completing our defensive cordon. Unfortunately, at that lower level, we attracted more flak than we would at the normal cruising altitude. Thankfully, none was accurate.

Despite being out of formation, we encountered no enemy fighters until just south of Belgrade, when a couple of Me109s came in from dead ahead – one level with us, and one from a higher altitude. S/Sgt Evans engaged the higher one, managing to clip it enough to ensure its shots missed us. At the same time, Wray blasted the one level with us with the chin turret guns, resulting in bits flying off the bogey’s starboard wing, and the aircraft spinning underneath us, clearly out of control. Cheers from the nose section were echoed around the plane when Sgt Randall reported that it looked like the pilot didn’t get out, as he saw no chute.

The other 109 swooped past us, so Demery gave it a burst with the tail guns, but the Jerry had no stomach for any more, and headed away for home.

The flak on the rest of the run to the sea was as inaccurate as previous efforts, and we were soon crossing the Italian coast, heading for home.

While the weather was worse than when we left, we managed to put the plane down without any problems.


T/Sgt Pierce was smiling at us as we exited the plane. “WAAAAY better than the last time I saw a kite after a Ploesti mission. We’ll have that tail oxygen back online in a day or so.”

The crew were all smiling as well, with the vets and rookies chatting and giving their stories of the longest mission so far. A much more pleasant round of post-mission paperwork this time, with Moore, Ridley and Wray getting their Air Medal, or an upgrade to it. I sought out Wray in the O Club, and thanked him for his efforts while with us. He gave a wry smile and explained that the occasional mission is the lot of the guys in the spare pool. I will keep him in mind if we need a replacement again, as he ended up with a half-credit for the 109 he shot down.

I am much more confident than last week about making a success of this command than I was just over a week ago. The plane is solid, the crew are coming together, and if we can make it successfully through a mission of that length, I’m sure shorter ones will be no problem at all.


1Lt Jason Morlan, Pilot Commanding
B17G-45BO-42-97405 "Cannonball II"
80th (H) BS, 509th (H) BG